Reverie by Cho
by Arcadya
Summary: The world ceased to exist when he slept. No one else seemed to notice. Cho tries to save the world, with one grungy city and two sidekicks, against two diabolical nemesis' or is it three ?
1. SLIP

_Hello all, new fic for you._

_This is a lot different than normal, but I was intrigued by the premise. Strange conversations that prompt my brain to go off into varying degrees of normalcy and strangeness. _

_I hope at least you get some intrigue happening._

_This isn't exactly a crack!fic, well, no it's not, but it's definitely different. I'd go so far as to say AU but then again it's not. AND I can't give away all my secrets so, it's up to you how much you want to continue with this :)

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SLIP

It was always dark in the beginning.

He didn't know why.

Nothing existed when he wasn't there, sometimes days, months, moments, anything could pass. Time would skip and jump - demented hopscotch - but nothing really new happened while he was away.

It was if the world merely ceased to exist when he wasn't there.

He didn't know why.

What he did know was that he was Kimball Cho, Agent in Charge of the Serious Crimes Unit of San Realisto's law enforcement. And by Serious Crimes, he meant the unexplained ones. The ones were the government didn't really want the public to know who was truly involved.

It was a national secret.

Even he didn't truly know all the particulars. But he had been specifically chosen and assigned to this post. It was his job to either uncover or catch the two most devious and talented criminals in the country.

The Inscrutable and Sylph.

Bonnie and Clyde they were not.

Cho was quite sure they didn't work together, in fact, he was quite sure they hated each other.

Sometimes.

Most of the time.

From what he understood…

Van Pelt and Rigsby watched their Boss pace in his office.

Cho did not pace.

Something was up.

They looked at each other in preparation. One of them was going to have to inquire. Cho didn't like to talk about what was going on in his mind, he was solitary, the only reason they had lasted so long on his team was because they had each other – in every sense of the word.

Cho knew, he just didn't care, as long as they did their job, it was fine.

Their little team had been assigned one job, one case.

Find, uncover, retrieve, kill, maim – whatever – STOP The Inscrutable and Sylph.

They were criminal masterminds. Each working over the city in their own fashion.

The Inscrutable and Sylph had appeared four years ago for the country, four months ago for their city; at first San Realisto had believed that the criminal duo were simply hell-bent on taking over the city. But witnesses began to note the differences in their operations (if you could call them that).

Sylph was spectral almost. You never saw him. He was like the wind, a ghost, a wisp of air. Mercurial and mysterious, most of the time appearing to actually help people.

The Inscrutable was different, harsher, manic. Riddles, games and jokes, Cho likened him to The Joker (in times of quiet reflection); he envisioned a purple suit, clay face, maniac-smile, deck of cards dripping in blood – chaos for its own sake. But he too was, on occasion, known to effect change for the good, the good of an individual.

The Inscrutable and Sylph were different; unknowable, all-knowing sometimes it seemed. But that didn't deter Cho, it was his quest to stop them, and stop them he would. But first he had to catch them, or stumble over them, as had happened before.

He just needed a place to start.

They couldn't not know about him. His position had been blared throughout the papers over three months ago, when his team had been specifically created to combat the growing darkness in sunny San Realisto.

The last time he had been close to The Inscrutable, it had been obvious the man was adept at escapism and misdirection. No special powers, they weren't dealing with superheroes, merely illusion and deception. Of course, The Inscrutable was an enigma; dangerous and insightful. Van Pelt had been in tears near the end. She hadn't been hurt, hadn't even been anywhere near the criminal. But he was whispering to her across a curved wall. One of those weird acoustic phenomenon things, only she could hear him.

Murmuring acidic truths into her ear; Rigsby had been furious, to this day she won't tell of what he spoke.

Trust The Inscrutable to find the only parabolic acoustic whispering wall in the entire state.

He expressed regret after wards.

A cold, lifeless almost-apology echoing across the police radios; as if someone was forcing him. They'd changed their default station after that, not that anyone expected it to truly have an effect. But it would have felt even more useless to do nothing.

The thing Cho didn't understand; was _why_ The Inscrutable and Sylph were in San Realisto. Where had they been before? And what were they trying to achieve now? They'd been deemed criminals, but what crimes had they actually committed?

He knew the lists by heart, the rap-sheets that had been created but could never be processed because the two had never been arrested. They were full of petty crimes mostly: trespassing, some thievery, information accessing (but any two-bit hacker could accomplish what they had), and a propensity for being the wrong place at the right time. The amount of police reports stating arrival at a crime scene to find The Inscrutable or Sylph (sometimes both) fleeing the scene was becoming laughably common.

They had never killed, maimed, shot at, threatened (well, The Inscrutable had but usually it turned out that the unfathomable figure's assumptions had been correct), strong-armed or grievously broken the law. Why were they being designated as far-reaching and dangerous criminals?

Cho wasn't sure, but he had his orders, and perhaps if (when) one day he caught one or both of them he could ask.

**??!!??!!?!**

_Black holes inside their rib cages - shriveled, dried up pound of meat clumping out orbs of dust - where their hearts should be._

_Flowing death traps upon their heads; smoking ashtrays glaring out of darkness; hard laughs and moist tongues glugging down liquor like water in the Arabian Desert._

_Hate was not a strong enough word for what he felt for them._

_The Pitiful Ones._

_He was patient though._

_Hell in a hand basket: a major understatement for what was about to begin._

_He hoped they had followed him here (sure they had). But he reviled those glory hounds; perhaps one of them should be first, an honor they didn't deserve but Oh, the sweet, pungent taste._

_He was itching for a game. _

_And they were the very best players. _

_The very best opponents. _

_Together they were beautiful. _

_Alone; predictable._


	2. SLIDE

_Things, they are a-changing._

_I'm actually having quite a bit of fun with this one :)_

_Bad things do happen but they're never explicitly depicted so no need to worry!_

_Oh and SpaceAnJL, you're present is hiding away in here. Will become a much more important theme later on ;)

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SLIDE

Her screams shattered the airwaves; Van Pelt struggled with the urge to punch the mute button.

This was not the work of The Inscrutable or Sylph. They had… class (for lack of a better word).

Nobody could believe that someone was this sick. This heinous.

To kill a woman on live broadcast. Unthinkable.

But the visuals weren't the worst. It was the sounds. The utter silence from the killer and the shocked pleading, scraping, gurgling from the victim.

She was going to die, but Van Pelt knew, she hadn't realized it yet.

Every cop had. Every nurse, ambulance officer and doctor had. Every criminal psychologist, pathologist and forensic scientist had. But not this woman, not this reporter/anchorwoman.

She hadn't realized, not yet – too focused on staying alive to ponder the outcome of a lunatic maiming you on television.

Finally, she died.

A voice now, thick with emotion, need sated.

"My plans are finally complete. This is the first step. Prepare yourselves."

Low; a hissed whisper. A promise.

The coffee cup Rigsby was holding shattered, the pressure of his clenched fist breaking through the ceramic mould.

Cho squelched the urge to throw something, the urge to yell, to scream. He was an immovable rock, a rock that waits for the right moment, that tiny pebble kick to fall upon the unsuspecting man.

He would wait. Be patient. The answers would come.

??!!??!!?!

His rage was palpable, not that Sylph expected any difference.

Calmly and with great caution Sylph approached The Inscrutable, "He knew we would be watching, knew we followed him here."

"Of course he knew." The Inscrutable spat back, anger turned to the most readably available target.

Sylph resigned to fate.

"Planned this, did you hear him. He planned this. Ever since he left the last city. Planned this for San Realisto. Do we ever change anything?" Shouting now; control slipping. Hates to be out of control. Can't handle it; unsurprising. Loss of control the only thing he cannot bear.

"Of course we change things." Voice rising now too, shouting helps no one. But The Inscrutable always professes to not care for the individual, for the small changes. He only desires the big change. The last change.

Sylph's voice cuts through his rage, the accompanying tone of anger proving to him (more than words alone) that she feels the same. She has more control than he does.

Turning suddenly, the ire deflates. They're in a back alley, waiting for the next shipment of a company they've been tracking, one that could lead them back to _him_. Unfortunately, the security guard watches TV in his down time. They've been watching too, while they wait.

The nemesis' newest victim on-screen, dying before their eyes. There's no point in them leaving their post to help that woman. They knew the moment the woman's eyes widened in surprise, when the dark figure moved onto the screen and the first slash of blood streaked across the pristine desk. She was dead. Nothing they could do. Police already on their way; their presence only going to create more confusion.

So they wait. Fists clenched and tongues bitten. Knowing this death is unavoidable.

The alley is damp, it hasn't rained but a water main burst. They're crouching in an inch of water. The air dewy with it; creeping up the bricks, pervading their skin and hair. Clothes specifically designed to withstand most climates, so they are not soaked.

He nods his head. He doesn't apologize. Doesn't know how anymore. Words are so… temporary.

Leans forward, head resting on her shoulder; this is the most contact he allows them to have out in the open. But he knows when they get home, when they are no longer The Inscrutable and Sylph, the night will end differently, their argument will end differently.

Tires roundly slap the asphalt. Their target is here.

More waiting. But at least their fishing expedition has been fruitful. The mix of metaphor keeping him occupied.

They follow him. Find their next lead. Return home.

Eventually they would defeat Le Rouge Jacques. The psychotic Frenchman; or at least the man who pretended to be French, or at least the man who The Inscrutable thought was using the French pseudonym to throw suspicion off him and onto the country across the seas.

The man who had been terrorising the country, not that many people knew that though. Somehow, Le Rouge Jacques had managed to keep his 'work' (for lack of a better term) out of the spotlight. That was hard to do. The Inscrutable knew. He and Sylph still hadn't figured out how that was possible. Reporters; too much like pit bulls, once they bite down, you can't shake them off, they're worse than police. At least police obey the rules.

Le Rouge Jacques was so competent local and national law enforcement didn't even know about him. Of that Sylph was sure. She'd gotten some law abiding contacts. They'd dipped into the countries many security systems and databases, there wasn't a peep. No one seemed to know of the criminal that was Le Rouge Jacques.

But The Inscrutable and Sylph had researched; they could fairly accurately place fifty-seven deaths on Rouge Jacques' shoulders. Fifty-seven gruesome and terrible deaths; twelve more that they could tie to him, but couldn't prove.

Now, the police were sometimes dense, but they weren't stupid. Someone had to be cleaning up Rouge Jacques' deeds. There was just too much evidence pointing toward the man for this to have gone unnoticed for so long.

The Inscrutable scowled. A habit picked up from Sylph.

??!!??!!?!

The trio was in shock. They were Serious Crimes, they were the unexplained cases' team, this newest madman in the city should have been theirs. But they were denied access. From the top.

They retreated to Cho's office. Confounded.

"What the hell is going on?" Rigsby whined, as best he could with his gruff voice, and huge physique.

"I don't know. But..." Cho began.

"But?" Van Pelt prompted. Cho wasn't one to drop off a sentence. He was succinct.

Cho shook his head, picked up the stapler on his desk and rattled it.

"What are you doing?" Van Pelt asked; an eyebrow quirking.

"Did you give me this?" He asked.

Rigsby shook his head, glancing at Van Pelt questioningly.

"No." She responded, intrigued by his odd manner.

"It's not mine. Mine is white." They peered at the stapler, in awe of the seemingly everyday office appliance.

The stapler in question was black, shot with purple. In fact, it reminded Cho of a certain villain who shall remain nameless. He popped the back off the stapler; little shards of round paper fell onto the desk. False snow.

Flipping the now bare stapler over he saw a note stuck to the bottom (inside the underneath of the stapler). Plucking it out, he unfolded it carefully. Rigsby quietly closed the blinds. Their team considered odd enough as it was.

_Took you long enough. Come to 12/38 Calpetti Avenue, knock thrice. The Inscrutable._

"Well... damn." Cho stated.

Van Pelt and Rigsby idled over to peer at the scrap of paper, correspondence from their target. Surprising that The Inscrutable wished to talk to them, unheard of, but not unwelcome.

"Let's go." Cho said, rising quickly, pulling his dark gold trench coat from the rack and leading the way out of the building.

* * *

_Are you intrigued yet?_

_Wow, I'm really plugging the whole 'talk to me vibe' today, aren't I? :)_

_Arc  
_


	3. SNEAK

_Onwards and upwards as they say ;)_

_A little birdy pointed out something important about my use of French, I suck! (They said it nicely) Actually they were really helpful with the whole thing, which is nice I like helpful people :)  
_

_Parlez vous anglais? That's the extent of my French, oh well. Apparent Le Rouge Jacques is not how you would say the name, but considering The Inscrutable doesn't believe him to be French anyway, I've decided it adds to the mystique ;) AND I'm lazy...

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SNEAK

Home finally. Their temporary home anyway.

Small apartment, should be stifling but isn't, they're hardly ever here. San Realisto is work. They're not on vacation. Not that they've ever been on vacation. They should he realizes, wants to; but knows they are both too dedicated to the cause. Le Rouge Jacques is too monstrous to allow their petty desires to overtake their goal.

But that doesn't mean he can't have snatches of happiness amid the hatred and vengeance. Time only makes the thirst stronger. He will kill the man one day, for he is only a man, this Rouge Jacques. Sylph doesn't necessarily want to _kill_ him; she only cares about stopping him. But she too realizes that not killing him may only lead to escape for the psychotic killer; he is extremely smart, and she's been hair's breadth close before.

Their tiny apartment sings its welcome, the rusty door scraping a crescent moon on the floor. They chose this section of the city for its anonymity. Unfortunately, rust, grime and dust come with the territory. The security cameras and lock-down capabilities do not. Those were installed the first day they arrived, Sylph; the more safety conscious. She's always amused when the public perceive her as male. It's annoying, but it helps their goal.

It also adds to their perceived rivalry.

When the city is looking for two males who prefer costumes and engage in heated battles in the back streets, the normal image of a suited man and his date for the night do not draw attention. The amount of times they've been questioned as possible witnesses is laughable. How are you supposed to tell the questioning police officer that you couldn't possibly have seen these 'evil masked bandits' because you were the 'evil masked bandits' (and therefore did not see yourself fleeing the scene)? Not that he would ever wear a mask, too gaudy. Sylph has to, previous gender reasons already explained. Plus she doesn't have his talents.

"Home, sweet home." He intoned drolly; grinning as she rolls her eyes.

"Hmmm, home." She replies; dumping her head gear onto the couch. It's always the first thing she takes off; he thinks/knows that it restricts her. She has a love/hate relationship with her costume. Her other persona.

She doesn't like the fact that she has to hide who she is to make the world right. But she also knows, with the way the world is at the moment that she can't afford for anyone to know who she is. It's safer; particularly for her that no one knows she is a woman. Le Rouge Jacques especially. He has a penchant for women; nine out of ten times his victims are female.

The Inscrutable doesn't want that to happen, not to her. He can handle any other woman falling prey to the man (if you want to include him in your species), but not her, not Sylph, not...

They don't use their names. Not anymore. They know too much about wire taps, bugs, eavesdroppers and the weirdness that a stranger remembering something odd can prod. It's been so long since either one of them have uttered their true names. The names they were born with; three years now his thinks. One day though, one day, when everything is done and dusted, either shelved into a cardboard box of boney ash or shut away behind solitary bars – parole non-optional, he will say her name, and she his.

Closely followed by _I do_.

(Not that she knows that yet)

Sylph runs a hand through her messy hair; the mask/face-cap always causing her to sigh in relief once it's off. It's tight, not uncomfortable, just restricted, but necessary and she can handle anything if it's necessary.

She's contemplating whether to have a shower or just get changed into sweats. It's not like hygiene is such a big notion in these parts. And watching a really clean woman walk these streets is almost like setting up a beacon for muggers. Who knew un-cleanliness could save your life? Her body is turned suddenly, back of the couch pressing up into her spine, frantic hands run over her torso; plucking at the many ties and zippers that protect and mute her figure.

Kissing.

Hand flutters by her side, hard to feel, too much clothing.

More kissing.

Takes a breath.

Mouth moves to throat. Moan.

Knock on wood.

Another breath, interspersed with an indignant rough kiss.

Knocks count out three.

Guttural moan this time. The Inscrutable's frustration causing her to grin; quick peck on the lips, "Do you reckon it's them?"

"No one else knows we're here and we always go pick up our take-out." He rights his rumpled suit. She never has understood how nobody really sees him even though he doesn't have a mask; his face always on show. Oh she understands it as a part of his talents, but she can't reconcile the idea the _no one_ remembers, a faceless suited man should pop up on someone's radar. People see what they want to see, she guesses.

She retreats to the other room (they only have two). It'll take longer than they have for her to put her mask back on (and fix her clothing, The Inscrutable's restless, quick hands made short order of her jacket). Besides, _they_ don't know Sylph and The Inscrutable live together, let alone work together.

??!!??!!?!

Door opens. Van Pelt tries not to squeak. She can't believe it's actually him.

Cho's stern and controlled face greets the man he's been hunting for the past four months. "Inscrutable." He says.

"Please, do come in." The Inscrutable grins, as he swings the door open wider.

"Is this where you live?" Rigsby blurts unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

"No, I live in a bat cave far under the city." The Inscrutable replies – deadpan.

"Really?" Rigsby asks, disbelief clouding tone.

"No. I actually have a very nice mansion in Malibu."

"Again, with the deadpan." Cho mutters. Obviously the man was never going to tell them the truth.

_Sylph grins from the other room; that one was the truth_.

"We found your note." Van Pelt states, unnecessarily.

"I noticed. Thank you for coming and for not dragging along thirteen uniformed officers and six squad cars. I know you were contemplating it."

Silence falls for a few, brief moments.

_Sylph rolls her eyes, typical._

"So... why did you invite us here?" Cho finally asks.

"I thought it was time we met face to face, properly." The Inscrutable replies.

Memories of the last time they were close flash back. Van Pelt's tears; but she surprises him.

"How did you know all that stuff?" She asks.

The Inscrutable doesn't respond, merely tilts his head toward her. An acknowledgment.

"I've never told anyone... those things." She's embarrassed but that's not going to stop her from finding out about this man. She's also desperately trying to remember his features, so that she can get a sketch artist to draw him later. Cho and Rigsby are thinking the same thing.

"It's written all over you, my dear." He replies, but does not make a move to explain further.

"What do you know about this newest criminal?" Cho asks, getting back to the main reason he wanted to meet with The Inscrutable.

The air thickens with dread.

"Tea?" The Inscrutable inquires, but now is not the time for hospitality.

"No." Cho answers for all three.

The Inscrutable nods; gesturing towards the couch and the lone two chairs. He remains standing, by the opposite wall. Knowing he has just placed the three police between himself and Sylph, they are in a net, and they do not realize. But tonight is not about the games he plays with them for his amusement. This is different, dangerous. Le Rouge Jacques has finally made his first appearance in the city. They deserve to know the truth, especially since the government is still keeping him under wraps. For no reason.

"What do you know about this man?" The Inscrutable asks. He wants to know how much they've been able to uncover for themselves. If they are pitiful, he's not going to hand over his (and Sylph's) hard work.

They were too excited about the prospect of meeting The Inscrutable to spend any time researching this newest criminal. Plus there was that little wrinkle of them being barred from any type of exploration into the case.

"We didn't get the case." Rigsby finally said; embarrassed, ashamed almost. It was theirs, it should have been theirs.

The Inscrutable tilts his head again, almost like he's cataloging them. He reminds Van Pelt of one of those lapdogs, the ones that are always waiting for that special word: 'treat', possibly 'walkies'.

She tries and fails to hide the grin.

"Interesting." He says finally. He drums his fingers on his knees. Waiting for something. Deliberating. "We can trust them." He says to the room; not to one of them.

They still in wariness. Unfortunately for them, The Inscrutable has organised the area so that they are all facing away from the other room. Cho is understandably upset when he realizes how easily they've been tricked into letting their guard down.

They hear the door open first. They swiftly turn, and see the semi-bulky, but rather small, figure walk out – the figure that can only be Sylph. There is no showmanship to this criminal. No fancy clothing and bright distracting smiles.

A dark mask, somehow resistant to the glinting of light, skull-cap almost, the rest of the 'costume' is uniformly blank. It's like looking at dark mannequin in a store, one that hasn't been given articles of clothing to present a facade of personality. Individualism is completely lost on Sylph. There is no telling who this man is supposed to be.

This is about the time the team; Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby realize that they have been duped. The Inscrutable and Sylph have been working together all this time. Their adversarial relationship is false. It too, a facade. A misdirection, an illusion.

Cho would applaud them if he weren't so put out.

Sylph moves further into the room but he remains standing at attention near one of the walls. He makes no move to sit or relax, on guard. The silent watchman of the two. Now he realizes. This is why their dynamic works, two pieces of the same thing. Like a clock. To tell time it needs (at least) two hands – for accuracy. This is what they are; the sturdy, solid hour hand: Sylph, the quick, glance on and off, immediate minute hand: The Inscrutable.

Rigsby is astounded. They are more off-put by this newest criminal than he thought. To be so deluded, to not even know that there was another room, let alone that there was another person residing in it. He's losing his touch.

His hand, of its own accord, stretches out on the smooth surface of the cushions to grasp Van Pelt's fingers. He needs the quiet reassurance. She squeezes back softly; they're mastering the art of non-verbal communication slowly but surely. Unfortunately they still rely on the physical more often than not. He waits for the day when they can have whole conversations through the lifting of an eyebrow or the direction of a look, the huff of breath or the scuffing of a toe. Even better when he knows her well enough to not need to even be in the same room as her, same state, same country, that day when he will know her so well that he'll know her reactions and beliefs about things without her being with him.

"What do you know about this man?" Cho asks again, he doesn't want them to know just how unsettled he is. His whole understanding of the world has just changed. He needs something else to focus on.

Sylph inclines his head.

The Inscrutable begins, "We have come to know him as Le Rouge Jacques. He is a terrible mutilator of the human body. He delights in ravaging his victims. He is incredibly smart – do not underestimate him. He travels from city to city wrecking havoc. Only no one ever knows it is him. He has friends. High friends... powerful."

They understand what he is saying; you'd have to have high friends for the Serious Crimes Unit specifically designed for this kind of criminal to not catch your case.

"I first stumbled across Le Rouge Jacques six years ago. He killed some people I knew."

If Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt had known The Inscrutable like Sylph did they would have heard the minute strain in his voice, the pain he was trying to keep hidden. The Inscrutable did not feel pain. He was unknowable and unknown.

"Taunted me afterward. I gave up my life to stop him. Ran into Sylph here." He grunts out a laugh, hand gesturing toward the darkly figure.

"Where?" Cho asks, trying to get some more information.

"In a city like any other." The Inscrutable replies, "Rouge Jacques was terrorizing the city. Sylph was just an ordinary person then weren't you Sylph?" He's asking rhetorically but Sylph answers anyway. A short nod of the head. Ominous for the fact that he still hasn't spoken. It's spooky. Van Pelt now knows why the man is referred to as ghost, ghoul and on one odd occasion fairy; but spoken about in hushed, fearful tones. Not Tinkerbell fairies, Oberon and Titania faeries. Irish and Celtic faeries of old, blood spilling, ferocious beings. Worse than goblins.

"Walked right in on it." The Inscrutable falls silent. Remembering.

Sylph's body tightens, it's hard to see. The costume massive on his small frame. Cho's getting images of old comic books; Batman and Robin, the tall, dark depressive Bat with the tiny, brilliant colored bird by his side. Only this time, it backwards, an opposite mirror. The tall figure is the bright one, drawing the attention, and the small one is the dark, the shadow.

The Inscrutable is feared because of his knowledge, he knows things about you. He's insightful to the point of being scary. But Sylph, he is truly scary. Never talks, never makes a sound, but light touches can impart so much. Children are never afraid of Sylph. They find The Inscrutable hilarious. The city's parents are in uproar, terrified that the two newest (then at least) criminals in San Realisto were going to become Pied Pipers, trancing their children straight into the sea.

"Ever since, we've been trolling the country. Searching. Gathering. We'll get him one day." The Inscrutable says defiantly.

"So what have you got?" Cho is intrigued. He's sitting in the living room of the two most dangerous criminals this side of The Grand Canyon and he's not afraid. If anything, he's starting to see their point. If Le Rouge Jacques is as dangerous as they claim, and he's certainly psychotic – saw enough to prove that on the television – and knowing from past experience that the government refused to do anything about it. Then, he can see how, some citizens of the country might take matters into their own hands; try to finish it off for good. It would be worth life in prison if he were stopped.

From what The Inscrutable has said, at least three murders have occurred. Across country too. He wonders how they've been following him for so long. What must have happened to get these two men to work together for so long? They certainly have nothing else except revenge, or a sense of total justice keeping them together.

The Inscrutable looks toward Sylph. Some silent conversation occurs. Rigsby wonders if they have techno-gadgets in their costumes, ones that allow them to speak in whispers but be perfectly heard.

They don't.

Sylph crosses the room to the bookcase. It's make-shift, looks rickety, but it seems solid. Moving a few books, rearranging it seems, suddenly, behind the clutter, a box; rather large. He pulls it out carefully; sets it down on the floor, in front of the three newly acquainted 'friends'.

Time passes as the three; Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt become knowledgeable about Le Rouge Jacques preferences, techniques and history.

Seven years (that they know of), fifty-seven deaths (that they're sure of), twelve maybes; it's a lot. Almost ten per year.

It disturbing, Cho notes, that most of the time, Le Rouge Jacques organizes and infiltrates before he makes his move. When he looks at the cities he's inhabited the past four years, he realizes that The Inscrutable and Sylph have been following him around the country. Trying to stop him. They've been bending the rules, the law, sometimes, when necessary – yes, they have broken the law – but with a specific goal in mind.

He's thoughtful. The evidence is weighty; he can't refute what they've shown him. He knows they expect him to do his own research, on the sly. But he has good instincts. He pretty sure that this is the truth. He saw Le Rouge Jacques on the television screen. Knew what the movements and noises meant. He doesn't need to look at a coroner's report to know how many times that knife ripped her flesh. He can count.

Glad in some way, that he doesn't have the actual images imprinted onto his brain. He's got others now that more than make up for it. He wonders how The Inscrutable and Sylph handle this knowledge. That they've become hated figures because of their desire to stop this madman. Knowing that their own government has abandoned them in this cause, knowing that their own government is somehow, for some reason, protecting Le Rouge Jacques.

Before he truly realizes what has happened, he's made up his mind. He wants to help. But the right way, from within the government. The world needs to know that this is happening. Of course, it will have to wait until they've caught Le Rouge Jacques, but The Inscrutable and Sylph are going to need allies now, especially since the government is gunning for them.

He casts another look around their apartment. It's small and sort of clean, and there are no intimate, personal objects. He supposes they live for the chase, the hunt.

He wants to check with Rigsby and Van Pelt, see if they're up for it. But he doesn't want to wait long either. He could leave, debrief with his team and try to come back later. But he doesn't know how they (The Inscrutable and Sylph) will react and he doesn't want to lose them now, not after he's just found them.

The Inscrutable knows. He knows what he's thinking. Rising swiftly, surprising Van Pelt and Rigsby, he speaks "We'll leave you for five minutes to discuss. Hopefully by then you will have decided either as a team or as individuals what you wish to do. Sylph and I will go get some Chinese take-away for dinner. Feel free to poke around." It's odd having The Inscrutable speak this way, light and humorously, knowing that he is about to leave his house, his haven, in the grubby fingers of the agents who are trying to capture him. He is about to leave his possessions and his secrets out in the open... while he goes and gets Chinese for his adversaries to eat.

It's odd, and unnatural, but Sylph does not appear to be worried. Rigsby actually looks intrigued, and hungry. So does Van Pelt. Cho realizes now that she was never scared of what The Inscrutable had told her, she hadn't been crying out of fear or terror; he had been telling her the truth, something else that she feared, or that had hurt her, something she was worried about. She had been intrigued by him, and his 'power', his insights. Having someone speak truth into your life can be disconcerting, and sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's necessary.

* * *

_All this intrigue is making my head explode!!!_

_I'm loving my little strange world, it makes me smile..._

_I'd probably keep posting even if no one reviewed - that is not an invitation to stop reviewing... :)_

_Arc  
_


	4. TRIP

_Hmm, I have nothing even vaguely witty to say today. _

_How about a joke? It's bad. Not BAD bad, just lame. Except if you get it, then it's the teeniest bit humorous, but not truly funny. And even THEN, if you don't get it, it won't be funny. But it'll make me feel like I'm having a conversation with you, so I'll put it out there and we can all cringe together..._

_'There are 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand __binary_, and those who don't...'

_See, I told you you would cringe... _

_Bad joke aside - on with the post!_

_

* * *

  
_

TRIP

_Do you think he can hear us?_ A woman's voice asks. Sounds familiar, although he can't place it.

_Possible_. A man replies. Voice very familiar. His body tenses; that used to be the sound of a foe, now friend. The Inscrutable he realizes.

Eyes blink open. Hard to pry apart the lashes. Important though.

"Welcome back, my dear friend." The Inscrutable gleefully greets him.

"How long..." He tries to ask, glancing around the room and notices he has never been in this room before.

"Not long; although you'd best call your teammates. They might be worried." The Inscrutable replies, tinge of understatement.

Cho takes a look around this newest room. He gathers it's a hotel. Lush carpets, clean walls, the bed is made penny-bouncing tight, there's a do-not-disturb sign on the door. A discarded newspaper catches his eye. It's been three days since he and his team found The Inscrutable and Sylph. The memories supply themselves.

That's right, he thinks, Van Pelt and Rigsby agreed. It was the right thing to do; become allies with The Inscrutable and Sylph. The mysterious duo, the talkative one and the silent one, they had given them a cell phone; a black market, untraceable phone. Van Pelt and The Inscrutable had contemplated setting up secure email sites, but a quick, decisive shake of the head from Sylph had closed that avenue down swiftly. Apparently, Sylph wasn't as ready to join forces with such complete abandon as The Inscrutable was.

They've been pretending to track down the criminal duo, but they've actually been running down leads Sylph gave them. Chasing factory shell companies, paper trails and phone records. They can't believe that The Inscrutable and Sylph have managed to infiltrate so many of the state's systems. There's a lot of loyalty too, so far no names have been spoken and none of their contacts have so much as gotten a wisp of knowledge that three law enforcement officers might have the capability of finding them.

The Inscrutable and Sylph protect their own; that much is abundantly clear.

But the question floating in Cho's brain at the moment is how exactly did he come to be here?

"Le Rouge Jacques almost caught you." The Inscrutable says, trying to jog his memory.

Now he remembers, early morning alley. Purr of an engine, large hand wielding gun. A blur of darkness, hits the ground. Sylph. Three shots.

"You can't go back." The Inscrutable says. "Sorry."

This time though he does actually sound apologetic.

"What?" He starts, "What do you mean I can't go back? Back where? To the alley?" Inwardly cringes, he hates how needy and confused he sounds. But he is confused, he's feels like he's just lost three days, knowing from the memories that have just returned that he's only lost a few hours. Sylph probably knocked him out when he tackled him. Can't believe he came that close to Le Rouge Jacques, what was he doing? Just before the alley? He must have had a reason to be there. Following a lead perhaps?

"No." The blond haired man, whom even now he can't quite picture his face, relaxes on to the bed. Sylph still maintains his vigil by the entrance. "You can't go back to your life. I am truly regretful of this."

Cho raises an eyebrow. He can't go back to his life? Why?

The Inscrutable flicks on the television. News stories blare sensationally.

_Decorated Agent of the State Kimball Cho has been killed in the line of duty. Following a lead, which law enforcement now believe to be false; he came upon The Inscrutable and Sylph fighting in a backstreet. They killed him in their tussle and fled the scene._

_He is survived by his subordinates and mother._

// A distraught Asian woman blasphemes at the intruding camera. Van Pelt's face blotchy from her tears, and Rigsby standing strong, allowing nothing to prevent him from protecting Van Pelt and Cho's mother //

_The chase for these two despicable criminals has been passed onto another team within the agency. The city has lost a vibrant son today. We mourn you Kimball Cho and thank you for your selfless sacrifice._

The Inscrutable shuts off the television, the popping lack of noise startlingly in its end.

"Did you..." he can't finish the sentence. He doesn't want to believe that his two newest allies could possibly think having him on the outside could help.

"No. Not us. You were of more worth to us doing your job. It was Le Rouge Jacques. Or whoever works for him."

"Or vice versa." A voice adds. It's female and it shocks him. He turns toward the sound, and realizes it is Sylph.

"I'm sorry." _She_ says, "When Le Rouge Jacques realized I was the one who took you down – saved you from his bullets... he took his revenge."

"He was probably going to blame us for your death anyway. You should be proud – sort of" The Inscrutable added, depreciatingly, "that you had affected so much concern that Le Rouge Jacques wanted you out of the way. You must have found something quite important."

"If I had, I don't know what it is..."

"That's okay, we'll work together to figure it out."

"One question..." Cho pauses, trying to figure out the best way to ask.

The Inscrutable thinks he knows what the newly 'dead' agent will ask. He's wrong. It's not about Sylph.

"Why can't I focus on your face? It's like a blur."

Sylph laughs. A beautiful sound. He realizes she must not get the chance a lot, especially from the body language he perceives from the direction of The Inscrutable.

"I hypnotized you." The Inscrutable says, "so that you wouldn't remember my face, or be able to see it again. I'll fix that for you."

Some calm words, a few taps and suddenly his face clears. Eyes dance with mirth.

"I like you Kimball Cho, you're surprising."

??!!??!!?!

They couldn't leave Cho's mother's house. The newshounds were sniffing at the side of the road. Thankfully San Realisto's laws prevented them from encroaching onto the sidewalk. They were stuck two centimeters off the curb. Their pale vans and dark electrical cords twining like thin snakes across the road. Neighbors popping in to give condolence and perhaps their face on television – the dutiful caring friends.

Cho's mother puttering around in the kitchen, making Green Tea, and coffee, and biscuits, wanting, needing something, anything to do, to take her mind off the fact that she just lost her son.

They just lost their boss.

Kimball Cho.

Dead.

It's too much to contemplate. And it doesn't make any sense.

Why would The Inscrutable and Sylph allow them into their apartment and show them the information they had collected about Le Rouge Jacques only to turn around and kill Cho? Rigsby tried to get the coroner's report of Cho or even a statement from the guy who drove the ambulance with Cho's _dead_ body in it. But no one can find them, they're always busy, and he's been ordered by Bosco AND Minelli to stay with Van Pelt and Cho's mother until the news blows over. As if that's likely, they'll milk the story for all it's worth, there might even be yearly memorials from now on. This is the first time The Inscrutable and Sylph (one or both) have killed in San Realisto, they've killed before.

Rigsby sighs, it feels wrong. He usually has a pretty good feel for people, whether he can trust them. He has been known to be taken in by a pretty, vulnerable face; not now that he has Grace. But in the past, before Grace, it had happened, not a lot but occasionally. He's warier now, but still in control of his instincts. He never thought The Inscrutable and Sylph would betray them like this, not with how open they were being with their information.

Van Pelt stifles another sob, she has a growing ball of tissue paper in her left hand, she should stand and find the trash bin soon; but Cho's mother is barring anyone from the kitchen, and she's not sure where another one might be. Swallowing she thinks back to the people who've just killed Cho. It doesn't make sense. She can picture every detail of Sylph. The small figure, dressed in dark leather, skull-cap that creates a scary frame, thick clothing, lots of zippers and ties. She wonders how long it must take to get in and out of that thing. She remembers thinking that Sylph is rather delicate looking for such a strong and dangerous criminal. But then, no one quite knows what it is that Sylph does. It's The Inscrutable that gets most of the news time.

He's the one the media are interested in.

But that's the more frustrating part. She can barely remember anything about him; physically. She remembers everything he said and the humor, the darkness behind it, but she can't remember how he sounded. What he looked like. She remembers the suit, the pale grey, jacket, vest, light blue shirt, odd brown... something. Something was brown, but it slips away as she tries to focus. Assumes he was wearing some kind of shoe. But she can't see his face. It's a blur. Knows he has one, knows she had seen it at the time, because she can clearly remember trying to commit the details into memory, but it's all gone now. Like she wrote a list in chalk on a blackboard and while she was sleeping someone stole into the room and washed it away, there isn't even any trace of chalk anymore, no way to re-establish those thoughts, those memories. Whatever powers he's not supposed to have, well Van Pelt's a believer now. He certainly has some kind of power.

Some hours later, Cho's mother has made them dinner. They were planning to slip out the back under cover of night. They can't now. It would be rude. She tells them stories. About Cho. About Kimball. Shows them a few pictures, her lonely, solitary, beautiful son. Obedient, except for those normal, troublesome years, respectful – always, even when rebelling, interests they didn't know he had. Can fight with a sword. Who knew?

_Probably The Inscrutable_, Rigsby thinks sullenly. He hasn't forgiven them for Cho's death, even if he's not sure who is actually to blame.

It's too neat. They were getting close to something. All three were sure. But it was his and Grace's second anniversary. He'd promised her a night out at a really fancy restaurant. Cho had practically demanded they go; he wasn't going to let them put a hold on their lives simply because there was another lunatic in the city. He and the 'others' could take care of it for one night.

How wrong he'd been.

They're eating a wonderfully spiced meal when his cell phone rings. He looks at it oddly. He didn't even know he had that song programmed into the phone.

Grace is looking at it weirdly too.

Cho's mother inquires whether he's going to answer it.

Cautiously he does.

"Hello?"

"_Don't react. Everything is alright. We need to speak with you and Van Pelt."_

(It's The Inscrutable)

The anger is palpable. Grace knows immediately who it is. Her face grows cloudy. Cho's mother realizes something is amiss, but she has the serenity to ignore the growing discord.

"Huh, I'm a little busy right now. _Personal _Tragedy." Rigsby knows he's got an audience; he can speak double-talk with the best of them.

"_We understand completely, but, and make sure now that you don't react in any way to this, we've only got a few more moments before any trace is completed..."_

"Get on with it." Rigsby demands, voice gruffly impatient.

"_Wayne; I'm alive."_

He doesn't even have time to react before The Inscrutable's voice is back. _"Meet us at that place you enjoy by the Ghostbusters' nemesis."_

The phone falls silent.

Rigsby's in shock; that much is clear to both Van Pelt and Cho's mother. Grace rises swiftly and crosses the room, bending at her knees to crouch by Wayne.

"Wayne?" She pleads.

"We need to go." He responds.

Cho's mother is used to the odd calls of a law enforcement agent. She accepts that only something vitally important, possibly concerning her son, could get these two distraught agents to leave her house this suddenly.

They're gathering their bags, their guns, their badges; she waits patiently for them to remember social courtesy.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Cho. We have to go. I'm so sorry about this." Grace Van Pelt says, her mind clearly on other things, future things, but her heat is in the right place. And Cho talked often of these two; he was the one who pushed them together, even if they have never recognized that. Her son was always a romantic at heart. It's still difficult putting her son in the past tense. She feels like he should walk in through her front door at any moment, she asked to see the body. The Governor denied her request, said she didn't need to see that. Makes her wonder, what exactly those two despicable criminals did to her poor son. What did they do to his body that would cause the Governor of California to deny a mother's request?

On the other hand though, she wonders what the big deal is, just her son's empty shell. His spirit was free, with the ancestors now. But nothing she said could get the man to change his mind. Accepted fate.

Grace Van Pelt hugs her, Wayne Rigsby too, brings tears to her eyes; surprised that they still have the ability to create tears.

They leave through the back door; jumping the fence and running down the neighbor's yard to cross over into the side-street. They parked their car around there earlier, in case they were called out.

"Where are we going Wayne?" Grace asked, her hand resting on his knee as they pull off the side of the road.

"The Inscrutable told me to meet them." He replied, suddenly remembering that their car could be wired. Can't tell her the whole story. Feels a little stupid, realizing he should have told her Cho was alive before they got into the car, and after they left Cho's mother's house.

"Where was that?" Grace asks, surprised when Wayne shakes his head and mimics an earmuff.

_Oh,_ he can't tell her, someone might be listening. She hates this secret agent stuff especially when she's the one who's not observing.

* * *

_*evil laugh*_

_Poor Van Pelt, always the last to know..._

_Arc  
_


	5. TREK

I've been busy and forgot it was about time to post the next chapter! Please forgive me.

:)

* * *

TREK

"_Meet us at that place you enjoy by the Ghostbusters' nemesis." The Inscrutable had said mysteriously._

_He'd pushed the off button quietly, but with a steady force._

_Laughingly Sylph had responded, "The Ghostbusters' nemesis? Where's that?"_

_The Inscrutable grinned, "Now that my dear, is my surprise."_

"_You know I hate surprises." _

_Cho didn't think she did. She didn't sound like she actually cared one way or the other. But everything was too messed up for him to think clearly._

_He'd just died._

_Kimball Cho no longer existed. Not by anyone's standards, those people that actually counted in the 'real' world._

_The Inscrutable, Sylph, Van Pelt and Rigsby. These were the only people in the entire world who would ever know Kimball Cho had not been killed by two wrongly accused anti-criminals._

_He pondered on that a while._

_The Inscrutable and Sylph were technically criminals, even if he could understand and__ sympathize__ with their predicament. The local and national law enforcement wasn't or couldn't stop Le Rouge Jacques, so they had set aside their previous lives to accomplish that goal._

_It must be a very small life._

He was still looking out the window and pondering those thoughts when the car stopped. All three were in a cab; The Inscrutable had hypnotized the driver so that he wouldn't recognize Cho or the oddness of the costumed Sylph.

Sylph gave a short shake of her head when she saw the 'Ghostbusters' Nemesis' – a big Michelin man billboard, resembling the giant Marsh Mellow monster that partly destroys downtown in the movie.

Ghost smile appears on Cho's face. It's weird how close he feels to Rigsby right now, it's like The Inscrutable has found a little piece of Wayne Rigsby out here in the unencumbered unknowing world, far away from the job, the mystery, the death and despair.

The Inscrutable leads them towards the Michelin man, there's a little picnic table in a small park. It's quiet and unobtrusive. He can see why Rigsby would come here. To feel like he's far away in the woods or something. The far corner is populated by a small gathering of trees and shrubs, quietly echoing a forest.

"This is where Wayne will propose to Grace one day." The Inscrutable says.

"Stop it." Sylph replies, her voice teasing but firm.

Cho is surprised; he knew Rigsby had plans, but that The Inscrutable was this all-knowing, he wonders how they haven't caught Le Rouge Jacques already. They're both smart, and intelligent – because sometimes those two things aren't mutually exclusive, Einstein was smart, but he couldn't work a telephone – they have tonnes of contacts throughout America and their highly capable. He's seen that much for himself.

So why haven't they been able to stop Le Rouge Jacques?

He must be incredibly good at being evil.

??!!??!!?!

Grace waited as patiently as she could. It was rather hard. Wayne looked happy, happier than he should considering it was partially their fault Cho was dead.

They were the ones that immediately told Cho they wanted in; with The Inscrutable and Sylph. The duo had just left the apartment to go get dinner. She and Wayne had looked at each other, and known.

They wanted to help. It was the right thing to do; it was becoming transparent that the higher ups were dirty, at the very least covering up something terrible.

They talked Cho into it. He hadn't looked terribly convinced, they spent the whole time telling him every reason that it was a good idea. When The Inscrutable and Sylph reappeared, he took the forefront, letting them know the trio wanted in.

They spent the next three days researching.

And then this.

He'd been killed by their allies.

She may never trust another person as long as she lived, except Wayne.

But Wayne seemed excited to see The Inscrutable and Sylph, and he also couldn't tell her what was going on. So she had to stay patient. Relaxed; everything would become clear eventually, right?

Wayne tried very hard not to speed towards Marsh Mellow man. He loved that hidden park. It was right in the heart of the city, but the only way to get there was to go around the back of this weird building, every time he'd gone, there had never been anyone else there.

He was planning to propose to Grace there, in a couple of months. He was still searching for the right ring. It had to be perfect. She was going to be wearing it for the rest of her life, after all.

Rigsby stopped the car just outside the park. Van Pelt couldn't see it from their vantage point, and he was beginning to wonder if this event was going to taint the memory of his park for all time. He hoped not, perhaps having Cho return from the dead in it would only reinforce the magicalness of the park for when he proposed. Maybe not, he'd have to see her reaction. Besides, they had a few more important things to worry about at the moment; Le Rouge Jacques being the first on that list.

They walked side by side towards the park, if anyone was tailing them, they would simply think that the two surviving members of Cho's team were getting away from the paparazzi and the bedlam surrounding his death. Hopefully, that was Rigsby's plan at least.

They turned the corner and came upon the solitary figure of The Inscrutable. He was seated at the picnic table. The perfect picture of comfort and serenity.

Van Pelt scowled at him. How could he be so relaxed and uncaring that their boss and friend had just died?

She felt Wayne's restraining, yet comforting, hand on her elbow. She hadn't even realized she was gearing up to physically abuse him.

"There's something I didn't get to tell you. On the phone, before." He started, but couldn't finish, for behind them two figures had appeared.

Van Pelt's subconscious noted the movement behind her;, she whirled around ready to defend herself. She was sure one of the figures was going to be the mysterious and deadly Sylph. She was right, but who was the other?

Cho.

It was Cho.

She blinked rapidly.

"Boss." Wayne exclaimed with happy relief. As if his mind hadn't quite believed the voice over the phone had been real.

He hugged the man, Wayne was never afraid of appropriate male contact. He had thought his best friend had died. It was an extreme relief to find out that he hadn't, that certainly deserved a hug.

Van Pelt was next. She practically threw herself at Cho.

Luckily, he was expecting some form of full pelt Van Pelt attack. He smiled into her hair. Grateful that he was indeed alive.

But he was dead, alive. Not alive, alive.

Kimball Cho didn't exist anymore. Only to these four people was he not-dead.

Cho sighed.

"Stop thinking." The Inscrutable instructed. Everyone, bar Sylph, turned to him in surprise. "Oh, not you two. Just him." He pointed a long finger at Cho.

"Right. I'll just stop thinking... now." Cho returned. He saw Sylph's jaw move.

The Inscrutable was intrigued by the movement too. "You're making Sylph laugh. Stop it." He added with a dashing smile.

Cho thought it was bit wrong that he was attributing the man with dashingness.

Van Pelt was still very intimidated by Sylph. She skirted the strange man and went to join The Inscrutable at the table. He welcomed her with a smile.

Realization struck her. She could see him, and she remembered everything about their previous encounters, every detail, every look, every laughing smile and knowing grin.

When had that happened? She remembered rounding the corner and seeing him sitting at the table. But just his body, the suit. And when she tried to look at his face, it was as if her eyes slid away. Weird.

Cho was a little astounded.

He knew that The Inscrutable had hypnotized all three of them the last time they met. But he didn't realize how easy it was for The Inscrutable to slip them back into the trance. He'd said two words and Rigsby and Van Pelt had stilled immediately. He'd told them that they would see and remember his face whenever they saw him but at all other times they wouldn't remember. When he'd finished his instructions, he let them go, and Van Pelt had moved toward the table without any memory of what had just happened.

Cho was a little astounded and a lot unsure of what he should be doing. Was he supposed to say something about it? Let it go? Go with it? He decided that doing nothing at the moment was probably the best course of action.

Rigsby soon joined Van Pelt at the table. It was obvious Sylph wasn't going to move from her protective stance at the edge of the clearing. She wouldn't talk to them anyway.

He'd found that he and Sylph were of the same mindset. They got on better than he and The Inscrutable did, not that they didn't get along, it was just... he understood Sylph better. She still hadn't shown him her face, but he didn't expect her to. He wouldn't trust them unless he had a choice either, but he kind of had to trust them. They were the only ones who could actually help him with his 'life'. It was enough of a gesture of confidence that she decided to let him hear her voice. She must never speak he realized. What an interesting assignment that would be. Never to speak; lest your identity be known and more danger approach. The more he thought about it the more painful it seemed.

He looked toward Sylph again, and she nodded toward the waiting trio.

"But you'll be alone." He said. Not wanting for her to feel left out.

She nodded again, more forcefully.

"You can chat later." The Inscrutable hollered, "business first."

Cho bent his head in recognition, he'd never be more grateful for being able to talk and to have facial expressions. Sylph truly was cut off from everyone. No wonder she and The Inscrutable could talk without words, without movements.

The Inscrutable was probably the only person who could understand her.

Van Pelt laid her hands on the wooden table. There he was standing in front of her and she could not believe it. He was _right there_, standing in the daylight, breathing. Looking like Cho. He was Cho. Never died.

She couldn't stop the smile that had been threatening to bloom every three seconds or so since she'd turned around and seen Cho. She felt like an idiot, but she was a deliriously happy idiot, so what did she care?

Sylph slowly walked the perimeter; they didn't need any unannounced visitors crashing this particular party.

She listened vaguely as The Inscrutable explained how life for Cho was going to be now, and how they could never tell anyone EVER that he was still alive. This information was interspersed with other more recent information she and Cho and The Inscrutable had been gathering while they waited for the appropriate time to call Rigsby and Van Pelt. They'd had to wait a couple of hours after Cho had awoken. As The Inscrutable was about to begin retelling how she saved Cho, Rigsby spoke up.

"Why does Sylph never talk?" He asked, effectively changing the subject from something important to something trivial.

She scowled. Why was everyone always so interested in her? The Inscrutable was charismatic for a reason, _so she didn't have to be_.

"Parlor trick?" The Inscrutable replied.

"How can you trust someone who never talks?" Van Pelt inquired.

They both seemed to miss the anger that began to rise in The Inscrutable. Cho and Sylph recognized it immediately.

"Why talk when you have someone who will do it for you?" Cho threw in, trying to lighten the mood.

He realized early on after his death that there was more to The Inscrutable and Sylph than a mere crime-fighting partnership. Perhaps further down the track, once he'd decided what he wanted to accomplish now that Kimball Cho didn't exist, he might get to see the real Sylph, the woman behind the mask and costume.

Van Pelt and Rigsby were about to walk themselves straight into a bad place with The Inscrutable when Sylph suddenly moved.

She'd been hovering at the edges of a circle perimeter she had established when she twirled with incredibly grace and lifted a gun from somewhere on her person. The gun was pointing outward, away from them but it still surprised Van Pelt and Rigsby. Sylph was scarily fast.

"Did anybody follow you?" The Inscrutable demanded.

"NO. We were careful." Rigsby replied, instantly aware of possible dangers.

"You didn't talk about Cho in the car did you?" He asked again.

"No, we're not complete idiots." Rigsby said indignantly.

Sylph made a fluttering motion with her hand then reduced her fingers to a tiny pinpoint, as if she were holding a needle between her thumb, index and middle finger.

"Did you check your car for bugs? Trackers?" The Inscrutable asked, speaking quickly and gathering up the information he had previously been outlining to the trio.

"Wait. Rigsby... you told me we were going to meet with them." Van Pelt said. She felt, immediately, stupid. That was such a rookie mistake. They _knew_ they were being monitored. Rigsby has even had enough foresight not to tell her that Cho was still alive, so there was a pretty good possibility that someone was eavesdropping. Why didn't it occur to them that anybody listening would be just as interested in an undead Cho as they would be The Inscrutable and Sylph. It was so bad on so many different levels that two of the cops assigned to catch the criminals were actually going to a meeting with them the day after their boss had been killed by those same criminals.

Van Pelt cringed. _How could they have been so utterly stupid?_

"Don't fret." The Inscrutable said, "You weren't thinking straight. Lots of surprises, Cho dead then undead, allies then not allies, tears then no tears, messes your brain up!" He made his voice reassuring, but he knew this wasn't the best end to the day. They'd have to split up... but what to do about these two? He looked toward Sylph then, pondering what course of action would be best. But apparently Sylph had already decided on a course of action, he smiled inwardly.

She confronted Rigsby, throwing a massive punch toward his jaw, he stumbled; she round-kicked him in the gut. He went down.

Van Pelt stifled a scream. Why was Sylph doing this? Before she even had time to think, Sylph was upon her. Sylph tilted his head to side, silently watching her. She paused. Sylph's body language changed, he was soft almost, cautious.

Hand coming at her face.

"Tie them up Cho. Any way you can." Sylph said even before Van Pelt hit the floor.

"What the hell?" Cho exclaimed. What was she thinking?

"Just do it. I'll explain later."

"NO. Explain now." Cho demanded.

"We DON'T have TIME!" She glanced back toward the street, "They're coming NOW. If you want to save your friends' careers, possibly their lives, do as I say."

The Inscrutable was already dragging Rigsby closer to the picnic table. Sylph threw him a leather cord she had had wrapped around her waist; it had been pretending to be belt he noticed.

Before Cho had fully gotten Van Pelt tied down, The Inscrutable was suddenly beside him pulling him roughly away from the picnic table. He was being pulled into the bushes. He was about to protest when he heard the slap of feet running on asphalt. Towards them.

They hid behind some of the larger trees, crouching behind greenery.

"Where's Sylph?" Cho asked quietly.

"Out there, covering our tracks." The Inscrutable replied, eyes watching avidly. He was answering Cho as an afterthought, not really paying him any attention. He was more worried about Sylph.

* * *

_Oh the joys of my brain ;)_

_As long as you're all still enjoying it though, perhaps I shouldn't bother._

_Arc  
_


	6. TRAVERSE

Isn't it just utterly weird when you realize that time has run away from you and you think 'I didn't even realize the little beast had legs!'

I'm usually pretty good with my three to four day posting schedule, so I apologize if anybody has been going through withdrawal. I hope this makes up for it...

* * *

TRAVERSE

_Remembers the night Kimball Cho did not die._

_Musty sense of determination._

_Skin warmed alloy gloved in hand, index finger itches._

_Alley dark, predictable; Kimball Cho, probable, waits patiently._

_Very patiently._

_Sanctioned this is not; but there are whole rooms of people waiting to clean up any accidental mess._

_He loves his life._

_Watches prey, moves to intercept._

_So unsuspecting. _

_Thrills of adrenalin, gorgeous in the veins._

_Prepares._

_Shoots._

_Black blur disrupts his plans._

_Warring emotions._

_Hate and Love._

_Sylph._

_Savior__._

_Saves._

_Why?_

_Kimball Cho is a useless accessory. Sylph does not need this man._

_Excited to see adversary in motion._

_Much better than simply nullifying Kimball Cho._

_Body leans toward Sylph, anxious to rip of that mask._

_Uncover the foe beneath._

_Few ideas, nothing concrete._

_The Inscrutable is easily identified. Revels in his frankness._

_But not Sylph._

_Sylph hides beneath shadows._

_Lurker._

_Sneaker._

_Mirror._

_Ghost._

_Elemental._

_Hate and Love, the only emotions he understands._

_Need and Want are the same for him. There is no delaying of gratification._

_Except for these two. They force, sustain, prelude, exclude._

_He loves them for it._

_He hates them for it._

_One day, soon, he will unmask Sylph._

_Will glory in the blood, and the flesh, and the dark._

_Oh, the pain: daily prayer._

??!!??!!?!

Carefully, _carefully_.

It was still day time, funnily enough. The boys were hiding behind the bushes. She hoped they were wide enough. The bushes that is, not the boys. Smirks at the nervous joking her brain comes up with in attempt to distract her.

The footsteps thunder with purpose.

Van Pelt softly breathing, hair splayed across her face. A splash of January fire.

Rigsby looking awkward and uncomfortable would be thanking her later; if he was unconscious he wouldn't notice the strain.

She angled her body directly toward the footsteps. Pushing her feet outwards a little, stance reminiscent of her brothers. A manly stance. She couldn't very well copy The Inscrutable's stance, he was too laid back and charismatic for her purposes. She needed a masculine, overpowering, powerful and potent stance. One that would affect the multitudes. One that would have the recipients scrambling for cover.

Her mask shielded her from the obvious, and only the stupid and the naive found her benign.

Children were different; she purposefully changed her demeanor around them. No child deserved to be scared out of their wits by a shadowy, dark figure in a mask and a crazed lunatic in a tailored suit. Even if said lunatic could hypnotize you into forgetting.

Children deserved the whimsy; the unnatural, the eerie, the mystery. They deserved the opportunity to live in a world filled with fantasy, away from the mundane, the harsh and the unloved. They would all have to grow up too quickly anyway – why shorten their exposure?

But those footsteps did not belong to children. That much was obvious.

Those footsteps, which now were quietened to deliberate shuffles, were the pedestrian mobility of cops. Probably good, wholesome, honest cops. She was going to have to dirty Sylph's reputation, but it didn't cost her much. Sylph wasn't supposed to be some symbol of hope and truth, Sylph wasn't a symbol at all.

Sylph was an effective tool.

Sylph protected her, allowed her entry into the strangest and most helpful of places. Sylph was indifferent to the sway of public opinion and rules. The thing was, she (the woman being the mask) truly did believe in social justice, in the rules and regulations that societies developed so that civilization knew where it stood, and what was expected of it and the individual. But the higher ups, those in power, whoever it was that was protecting and covering and helping and assisting Le Rouge Jacques; they had circumvented the rules and regulations, the laws. They had started this battle, this underhanded and hidden war. They were the ones who forced their hand; caused The Inscrutable and Sylph to be born.

In a perverted way, she had them to thank for The Inscrutable's admission into her life. She would have never met him... probably. And even if she had, she would not have known him in this capacity. Confidante, advisor, partner, lover.

But she had lost so much; had sacrificed so much for this cause. This greater than herself, greater than her family, greater than good even cause. She had chosen to sacrifice her own good name, the reputation of her past life, of The Inscrutable's past life, of Cho's. That sweet and innocent man who had only been doing his job; he was a beacon for the behavior of society. And because he had followed social directives; he was dead. Yet still alive.

It was the only thing she could find within herself to redeem. Their actions hadn't caused his actual death, but for all intents and other purposes, he was dead. He would now have to build another life. She only hoped he would be strong enough to withstand it.

The Inscrutable _was_ horror when she first met him; wandering into that den of blood and fog. The pain, the images; the white of walls, black of night, and red of spilled life.

A macabre tableau forever etched into her mind.

Two ragged and blood-stained men standing above a twisted pile of bodies.

The ancient and hideous cackle.

The knowing and unforgiving sneer.

She hadn't known who the culprit was or who was the defeated.

Two seconds later, everything was plain.

Her past had died that day.

The Inscrutable, apologetic but firm.

She was dead.

Never to see her brothers again.

The scar just below her left collarbone the mark of death for her.

Even thinking about it made her fingers itch to soothe the distressing memory.

Another 'victim' of The Inscrutable.

That was the night Sylph was born. Although in the beginning she had been without name, without form, without element.

She spent many weeks relearning movement with that side of her torso. Physiotherapy, a gift from The Inscrutable – to make up for his less than stellar companionship.

Sylph tensed with anticipation.

The footsteps were ready, she could tell. Years of confrontations and escapism had led to a finely tuned understanding of what footfall meant.

There were at least four people coming around the corner. They would enter the little park, see their comrades tied up and unconscious and there would be no more time for dalliance. The weapons would be drawn, and no words of warning.

They had Le Rouge Jacques' friends to thank for that.

The Inscrutable and Sylph were practically the only two criminals in San Realisto that didn't require verbal warnings. The police had already been given the all-clear to use lethal force.

And lethal force with no warning was a very bad combination for herself and The Inscrutable.

There they were.

The four figures.

Cops.

They fanned out menacingly.

A half-moon of dark blue uniformed enemies.

Sylph felt an eerie calm descend upon her.

She knew these men.

Well, she knew two of them.

She stifled a sigh of relief.

She blinked slowly, her palm loosening the hold on the gun. She wouldn't need it today.

Sylph never killed anyone, people got shot of course. It was unavoidable. But Sylph never killed. There were only a certain few, a small contingent of people that Sylph would ever even conceivably entertain the possibility of murdering. And those few people were yet to be identified: Le Rouge Jacques' friends and the demon himself. She would not be trying to kill or maim these men today. Not if she could help it.

??!!??!!?!

Jones and Tyler relaxed slightly when they rounded the corner and saw Sylph looking back at them.

They trusted Sylph.

Sort of.

This quasi-trusting stemmed from one particular night, many months ago. They had been attacked by a gang; a would-be drug cartel. Twenty to two was not a good bet. All of them had weapons, but the twenty had baseball bats, chains, knuckle-dusters and steel-tipped boots as well as guns. They only had their guns and tasers. Not exactly the most evenly matched of battles.

Just when the bruises on their faces, the rips in their clothing and skin, and the patella's of their knees were threatening to dislodge themselves from their bodies. Sylph had appeared; strolling down the street and into the vacant basketball court with his usual mysterious air and darkly clad costume.

The would-be cartel took one look and scattered. They didn't want to hang about and endanger their lives by testing the legend that was quickly growing around Sylph.

They shook with terror, praying to an unknown god that Sylph wouldn't kill them too. At that point they had been caught up in the terror and mystery that was Sylph. They believed the lies that surrounded the unusually small vigilante. There was no reason not to. Sylph was portrayed in every magazine and newspaper and television current affairs show as a heartless, death-dealing tyrant, whose personal confrontations with The Inscrutable has them frog-jumping from city to city.

Some prayed that the Canadians or the Mexicans would get a taste of the terrible two. But it was not to be. It seemed that The Inscrutable and Sylph had their sights set on America. Everywhere they went bodies piled up behind them.

Tyler and Jones were terrified. But Sylph had surprised them.

Silently, he had helped them to stand, in that cold and empty court, Sylph had tended their wounds, wrapped their blooding knuckles, found their belongings and helped them up. He did not try to silence their loud questions, or took offence to their words filled with hatred. He merely did his best to get them well enough to leave the area; Sylph half carried Tyler to the hospital while Jones drove their beaten car. The would-be cartel had decided to take their frustrations out on the squad car. It had dents and scratches, gaping holes and no lights; Jones had been surprised when the ignition turned over, it squealed a bit but finally spluttered to life. The car traveled slowly through the streets of San Realisto.

They arrived at the hospital still bleeding and bruised, but both knew – they owed their lives to Sylph. Jones had turned to thank him, it felt weird to know that one of the most dangerous characters in the entire country had just spent hours tending your wounds... but he was gone.

Jones hadn't even heard the door open.

Two days later, as they were both finally discharged from the hospital, a delivery woman had brought in a bunch of flowers for them both. She was petite and rather pretty; wide green eyes shining brightly at them – the heroic cops who had survived en masse brutality. She never once asked about their encounter with Sylph, like the rest of their visitors and nurses and doctors and cleaners had, she simply did her job, wished them well and left. It was only later that they realized she must have been delivering the flowers on behalf of Sylph. They scoured the florists after that, for an entire month, trying to find the mysterious delivery girl. But there was no sign.

Sylph, the inexplicable hero, had sent them yellow and black flowers for their recovery. A simple note, typed on a computer, wishing them future safety, and a quick joking postscript warning them against night-time basketball.

Ever since they had been slyly researching Sylph's past. They requested files, under the pretense of catching the villain, and were shocked by the discoveries they made.

Sylph and The Inscrutable had been attributed with killing many people, but there was no proof. No evidentiary proof that would hold up in court. It was a state-wide, perhaps even a country-wide conspiracy. They had shuddered at the thought. Conspiracies were for loonies and nut-jobs, crazies and UFO-believers. Not for stalwart police officers. But it was there in black and white, clear as a cloud in the wide, blue sky. The Inscrutable and Sylph were most likely... innocent. (Of murder).

They vowed to help out where possible.

Jones shot Tyler a quick look, minutely nodding toward the side. If he moved a fraction to the left, they would be able to create a small opening big enough for Sylph to barrel his way through. Tyler would most likely catch a few bruises on the way down, but it would be worth it if Sylph got away.

They both shuffled, taking a few steps closer to the masked bandit but also moving to the left. The other two cops; Brown and Papadopoulos wouldn't realize their other intentions.

Sylph did.

She smiled beneath her mask.

Their four guns were aimed at Sylph.

Sylph's lone, solitary weapon poised on Jones.

Jones knew he was in no danger, but Sylph was and he wouldn't let the debt fizzle out. He owed Sylph that much at least.

The Inscrutable and Cho held their breath.

Cho was anxious, this did not look anything remotely like Sylph had things under control. He was doubly worried because know that he knew she was female, he couldn't see anything other than four well-trained, muscled and armed men surrounding a small, and seemingly defenseless woman.

He knew that wasn't true. But from his position behind the large shrub, all he could think of was the strangeness the image displayed.

Four men to take down one tiny woman. It was obvious, too, that the four men were terrified of her.

The one who Sylph's gun was trained on – his hand was shaking.

The Inscrutable slowly exhaled. Sylph was capable, he reminded himself.

She could do this. She wanted to do this. There was no way that The Inscrutable would have been able to get them out of this. Not without being able to spend more time with the quartet. He had his talents, but they weren't infallible. He would need more time than they had to exert his will on them.

It happened quite quickly, really. Cho thought.

One moment the standoff was still in effect and the next, shots were sounding, two of the officers were on the ground – and Sylph was gone.

One cop immediately took chase, while the other checked on his colleagues.

They stirred after a few seconds, winded but safe.

Cho was surprised, he wondered what had occurred. In all honesty, those two officers should be dead; or at last sporting some vicious injuries. Under any other circumstances, a run-in with a criminal such as Sylph would have resulted in more fire-fight and death. He caught himself suddenly. He was still thinking like Kimball Cho – law enforcement agent. But he was no longer that person. He had seen the lies and the untruths that pervaded this city, this country. He was different now, and his thinking needed to reflect that.

The three cops started untying Rigsby and Van Pelt, they were still unconscious.

The Inscrutable and Cho stayed hidden.

"I think we should check the perimeter." One of the cops said. It was the first one to be attacked by Sylph.

"Sure." Replied another, the ambulance for Rigsby and Van Pelt was still en route.

The two cops who had fallen during Sylph's escape began to circle around the park, checking the bushes for any more evidence or 'friends' of Sylph's. They went in opposite directions but somehow managed to meet up directly in front of the shrub The Inscrutable and Cho were hiding behind.

Cho felt a cold tendril of sweat snake down the back of his neck, his breathing was becoming labored. He had felt this kind of terror only a few times before in his life, and he dreaded to think of the consequences should they be found out.

The Inscrutable was slightly tensed. He had watched the events with an accurate eye; he hypothesized some reasons for Sylph's calmness and the cops seemingly blundering ways. But one could never completely relax, that was just unwise.

Jones and Tyler peered over the bush. Their eyes widening when they saw The Inscrutable and Kimball Cho – dead agent, crouched uncomfortably.

Blinking, Jones pulled back hurriedly, tips of his mouth pulling into a smile. He lifted his hand quickly, covering his facial expression.

Tyler took charge; he was always the less expressive of the two, "All clear." He said.

The third policeman nodded in reply. The fourth police officer returned shortly after, out of breath and without Sylph.

"Lost him." He panted; The Inscrutable noticing the shaking of his hands... fear.

The ambulance arrived soon after, and Jones and Tyler offered to secure the area until Crime Scene Technicians arrived. They sent the other two officers with Van Pelt and Rigsby; they would let them gather the statements and reports.

They only had a few short minutes to clear to the area and make a way for The Inscrutable and Cho to leave the park without being seen.

They didn't speak; only stared in awe as they watched a fallen comrade walk in stride with one of the city's most dangerous men.

Kimball Cho... alive.

It defied logic.

But then, so had the realization that Sylph wasn't the enemy. And they had somehow survived that discovery.

Jones and Tyler returned to their protection detail of the park's evidence. It was going to be a long night, but worth it.

They had finally been able to recompense Sylph for his help. Perhaps not completely, but it was start. At least now, they knew, Sylph could be trusted and he could trust them. It would only be later that they realized The Inscrutable and Sylph worked together as a team, and by that point they had other more important things to consider.

* * *

_Let me know your thoughts, I do so enjoy them._

_Arc  
_


	7. ALTER

_I can't even begin to explain how crazy the past two weeks have been._

_I'd explain, but who really cares about real life... Fake life has so many more interesting things going for it!!!

* * *

  
_

ALTER

Cho and The Inscrutable walked swiftly away from the park. Left behind them, a wake of seriousness and police procedural protectiveness; it was odd and comforting. That the world still went on, that routines and policies kept turning over in never-ending piles of paperwork, that the hounding reporters would arrive and prattle on about the dangers of Super Villains, as if they had any understanding of what a true villain meant. They were all too interested in the next big headline to truly take any account of what villainy was. Had they stopped to look at the pervasive loss attributed to a single death? The many persons whose lives would be irrevocably changed? No, Cho thought, he didn't think reporters truly did, at least their reports of stories rarely conveyed a sense of empathy or sympathy for those who had lost people. Oh, they extolled the deceased's virtues, perhaps added a little epithet regarding their sympathies, but how true was it? They certainly didn't respect the families enough to allow them time to grieve before they arrived on their doorsteps demanding quotes and statements.

They moved quietly out of the vicinity of the park, there was no time for hailing a cab. The police were already on the lookout for suspicious people, and a person resembling the newly dead Agent Cho and a suited villain just wasn't in the cards for today.

They needed to get away, far away. There was no time, hordes of Crime Scene Techs and reporters would rain down on the little park any moment.

"This way." The Inscrutable spoke, swinging an arm out toward a smaller alley way. They cut through a Thai kitchen, The Inscrutable speaking low to one of the cooks as they passed cabbages, noodles and spice racks.

They left the building armed with an order for dinner. It would be ready for pickup later.

"Are you sure it's wise to come back to this area so soon after...?" Cho asked.

"Me and wise aren't really things that go together." The Inscrutable responded in a tone of voice Cho was fast coming to recognize as his joyfully, playful, teasing voice.

"You're more of the 'one of these things is not like the others' variety huh?" Cho responded making sure his own tone of voice didn't reveal his amusement.

"Exactly." The Inscrutable chuckled, "Come on, we've got to hurry."

"Why?"

"We need to get back to the apartment. Wait for Sylph."

The Inscrutable was worried about her, Cho suddenly realized. He'd kind of forgotten in all the rush that Sylph had essentially painted a massive target on her back. He all too often forgot that Sylph and The Inscrutable were criminals. It's funny how quickly your mindset can change, or not change. At times, he would sit in their apartment and forget he inhabited a room with two of the most dangerous criminals in the city, the state, perhaps even the country.

They'd be teasing each other, retelling old adventures, scrapes they gotten out of by the skin of their teeth, Sylph's bravery or The Inscrutable's cleverness. They watched the early morning news, well; he and The Inscrutable had made fun of the anchors. Sylph had been too busy researching for but he had still heard her quiet chuckles over some of their comments. He'd heard a couple of her more alto thoughts, she was funny. His kind of humor.

Then suddenly, he'd see them as simply a loving couple, exchanging food like they'd been doing it for years. Remember they had been together for years. Then he'd remember why.

His thoughts were so convoluted and strange that he couldn't even track them anymore. He supposed it was only a natural reaction to the changes occurring in his life. But it was odd how comfortable he was with t hem, how easily he seemed to be settling into their dynamic.

Cho was worried for Sylph too. _He_ had a history with the police, and it wasn't a good one; especially now that the government had announced a 'shoot first, ask questions later' policy. Sylph was a 'dangerous criminal', Sylph was the one who had just kidnapped and held hostage two agents of the law, right after just killing said agents' boss. That kind of thing was not forgiven easily.

Or at all.

They hopped on a bus. Waited as patiently as they could as it winded through the city streets, watching through grimy windows as hobos, hookers and housewives entered the steel contraption. They attempted to recline on the seatbelt-less and scungy seats, shifting uncomfortably when they began to stick to the vinyl and prevented themselves from careening off the seats around corners by caressing weathered handholds.

It was an aging bus, but useful, they would at least, make it home.

That surprised Cho too, how quickly he had begun to think of _their_ apartment as his home. He hadn't even truly spent one night there yet. Of course, he must have. The alley incident with Sylph and Le Rouge Jacques had happened late one night, so he must have spend some of that particular night at their apartment.

But and this was the strangest thing, it was still only the day after.

The day the world knew he died.

They'd gone out to meet Rigsby and Van Pelt, and now he was praying for Sylph's safety and traveling back to her house, her home. It was a strange thing. This new life he'd been given.

He hadn't really been paying much attention to the world outside the bus; still too locked into thinking about the changes wrought into his life, pondering the situation that was happening right now, and hoping that Sylph was okay. Trusting that she was, she had to be, he certainly didn't know how to handle The Inscrutable if she wasn't.

It was about the time that he'd started humming the theme to Indiana Jones out-loud that he realized the bus was turning the wrong direction. He'd already been humming the song for some time in the sanctuary of his mind.

This wasn't the way to The Inscrutable's apartment.

It was the way to his apartment.

"What?" He began, "what's going on? Where are we going?" Cho tensed. This wasn't right; The Inscrutable had gone off the deep end. This was the worst possible idea that anyone in the history of San Realisto had ever had. The place would probably be crawling with police, and who knows who else. If it was true that Le Rouge Jacques was being protected by the upper echelon of governmental society it followed that they would be tracking Cho's apartment in case he came back. They would have to know that he wasn't truly dead... wouldn't they?

Maybe they wouldn't.

Everyone seemed to believe that Special Agent Kimball Cho was dead. Perhaps Le Rouge Jacques had more people than they thought deceived.

Maybe everyone but Le Rouge Jacques, The Inscrutable, Sylph, Van Pelt and Rigsby knew he was alive. Maybe only he and five others would ever know he was alive. Oh, he added, and those two police officers, the friends of Sylph. They knew now too. But they would never be able to talk of it. They would never be able to acknowledge it. He was essentially dead. He needed to accept that. Really accept that. Maybe he needed a new name. Like how The Inscrutable and Sylph had become other people. They never used their real names, their old names. What if it had been so long that they no longer even remembered their true names?

The Inscrutable stood suddenly, jumping as the bus jerked to a stop. The decrepit doors opened with a dulcet groan. They scrambled down the aisle, dropping out into the familiar street with two pairs of satisfying foot slaps.

Cho raised a hand to shade his eyes from the brightly sinking sun.

He was about to point the way to his apartment when he noticed that The Inscrutable was already walking toward his home, his _old_ home. He stifled a grimace; man, he couldn't imagine how Sylph had managed to deal with this annoyance on a daily basis.

When they reached his apartment, he idly wondered if his key would still work.

It did.

The Inscrutable stifled a sigh. Trust Cho to be prepared; still keeping his apartment key on him. He'd almost been excited at the prospect of showing off in front of their new colleague. It always helped his ego to show off his skills. It never worked the same in front of Sylph. She knew him too well.

Entering his apartment was strange. There was a clean, sterile smell permeating the room; he didn't like it. The 'home' smell he had come to associate with his apartment was missing. Too many paid bodies spreading their unknown-ness about the place. It irked him to know that some many people had inhabited his home without his permission. He felt violated.

The Inscrutable cast a knowing gaze about the room.

"What exactly are we doing here?" Cho asked. It felt wrong; it felt like he was trespassing on another's property. He was no longer Kimball Cho. This was not his home. He had no right to be here.

"There are some things here that are important to you. I thought you might like to keep some of them with you. Sylph only brought one photograph when we left. I have nothing. We both chose this life. You didn't... I thought you deserved the chance. The choice." The Inscrutable replied; his calming voice, echoing through the room.

Cho glanced around the living room, thinking. What did he want to take with him? Was there anything he truly needed? Clothes you could buy. Anything you truly needed could be bought. The only things he remaining were memories, objects that could jump start his memory if they began to fade.

He knew exactly what he wanted to take with him.

Two things.

A scroll painting he had inherited from his grandfather and his sword.

He quickly found a strap that would allow him to carry the sword much more easily. It wouldn't be helpful to have attention drawn to them simply because the crazy asian ninja guy was carrying a loose sword. This way he could disguise it to look like a large cylindrical parcel. In fact, he decided to do just that. Upending one of his older (and now useless) cardboard holders, he wrapped the scroll around the sword and deposited both in the cylinder.

He swung it over his back and nodded toward The Inscrutable.

"Let's go." He said.

The Inscrutable left the premises, waiting patiently as Kimball Cho said his final goodbye to his house, his possessions, his life and his name.

A nameless one exited that empty apartment.

* * *

_I know it's short, but if I added the next bit it wouldn't have held quite the same ending-ness... so you know, artistic license there :)_

_Arc  
_


	8. AMEND

AMEND

Everything was bleary.

She'd opened her eyes; her brain knew that much to be true. But everything, the world outside of her body, was fuzzy and startling in its whiteness. It hurt.

She instinctively knew she must be in the hospital. There was no other rational explanation. The aroma, a distinct sterility and orthodox cleanliness. The pungent smell of chemicals destined to strip the funk of death and fear from the corridors and wards.

The memories returned.

Grace Van Pelt remembered the park, and Rigsby. The revelation that Cho was still alive. She tried and failed to hold back a sob. The emotions of the past two days finally truly catching up with her. She'd been so intent at the park, so intent on the particulars and physicality's of the situation they had found themselves in that she hadn't even properly begun to process what had just been revealed to her.

Kimball Cho had not been killed by the two criminals they had previously befriended. In fact, The Inscrutable and Sylph had protected Cho from Le Rouge Jacques. But in doing so, had to pretend that he had died.

They had to let Grace and her Wayne believe that Cho had died. They had had to spend that entire day believing that Cho had been murdered, at the hands of Sylph.

All Grace remembered thinking was how horrible it must have been for Cho to die at the hands of the unspeaking one. How terrible it must have been to spend your last moments with someone who refused to talk, refused to treat you as a person worthy of communication. Grace had cried over that, not just the loss of Cho in the world, but what he must have experienced... dying in that cold, dark alley all alone.

The Silent Sylph standing over his prone and fading body. How cruel. She had hated Sylph then. Still did a little bit, especially after what they had just experienced.

Logically, she knew and understood what had happened in the park. She may not approve of Sylph's choices, but then again Grace never really had. She hadn't liked the fact that Sylph made an arbitrary decision causing Cho to _die_, didn't really see the point. Not that they had much time to talk to Cho about the where's and why's of the underlying reasons behind his _death_. But she still didn't like it. Didn't totally believe that it had been a necessary thing to make him die; he could have just disappeared or something.

Then they'd been summoned to the park by The Inscrutable, as if they didn't have more important things to be doing that day_. _

_Like, I don't know, consoling Cho's mother?_

She understood Wayne's reasons, if she had been the one to answer the phone she certainly would have dragged him along in silence too. Maybe... actually, she probably would have informed him before hopping into their bugged car.

But then they'd made the stupidest mistake of practically their whole career. They'd led the police straight to The Inscrutable, Sylph and most distressing to Cho.

She felt entirely beyond help. They didn't deserve Cho's loyalty. And he definitely deserved so much better than what they had given him.

Carefully, she reached up and touched her cheek. The subtle sting was growing stronger. She checked her arms and the backs of her hands. No IV's, which meant she hadn't been out very long and the doctors hadn't thought she needed much extra attention. Looking down for the first time since she realized she was in a hospital room, Grace noticed that she had been changed. Someone had taken her old clothes away and had put her into a flimsy gown.

That was a little disturbing.

Quickly lifting the neck of the gown she peeked underneath and sighed in relief as her bra and underwear were still intact and on her person. That would have been even more unsettling. Nobody wants to wake up sans unmentionables in a strange place with no recollection of how they got there.

She wondered where Rigsby was. Remembering the altercation in the park, she was well aware that Wayne had received more physical punches they she had. She vaguely remembered a moment of calm before Sylph's fist came toward her face at a rate of speed she didn't want to meet again in a hurry. But poor Wayne had gotten a jab to the jaw and a kick to the gut. She only hoped Sylph hadn't broken any of his bones. It wasn't exactly helpful to permanently cause pain and injury to your supposed allies.

Grace decided she really didn't want to have to trust Sylph. He was too unpredictable. She didn't like the fact that they had to rely on Sylph. She'd been burned too many times by the criminal. At the moment, Grace didn't care that he was supposedly a good guy, he didn't feel like one and he certainly wasn't acting like one.

She trusted The Inscrutable. She definitely trusted Cho.

But not this other man in their newly formed trio. She was certainly going to be giving Sylph a piece of her mind the next time she came into contact with the masked man.

But first things first; she needed to find Wayne, and figure out what had happened and what they were going to tell the police when they came to interview them. They needed to get their story straight. Why exactly where they in that park with Sylph? Why had they left a grieving mother alone with a horde of blood-thirsty and reckless reporters on her front lawn? Weren't they supposed to be Cho's best friends? Best colleagues? That wasn't exactly a shining example of law enforcement.

??!!??!!?!

Wayne Rigsby eyed the tray containing the gooey chocolate pudding. It was calling to him, begging him to partake of its delights. His fingers itched with purpose, with desire and with a distinct salivation.

Unfortunately for him the nurse responsible for distributing the 'gooey' puddings was purported to be Nurse Ratched's slightly nicer sibling. She took her duties very seriously and had no qualms with using a little more force than necessary to ensure that her charges obeyed hospital policy.

It only took a matter of moments for Wayne to realize that the chances of him actually being able to ingest the pudding were very slim. He hoped that Van Pelt would figure out a way to get to him soon.

After the doctors had examined him they had hooked him up to a monitor. They didn't like the look of the bruise on his abdomen, they though it too close to vital organs. They just wanted to make sure that nothing was bleeding were it shouldn't be bleeding. And of course, they weren't going to take his word for it. He'd been in enough scuffles throughout high school to know when and where bruises were okay and where they weren't. And this particular bruise, while impressive, was harmless.

Sylph knew what he was doing.

He had to hand it to the masked bandit. Sylph was exceptional at quick-thinking. The actions that he took were probably the only thing keeping him and Van Pelt on the force at the moment. If the police ever figured out what they were really doing in that park, well... they'd either be in jail or living a very quiet life out on an isolated farm somewhere pretending they had never heard of two people going by the names Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt. If they were allowed to even remain in the same state as each other.

He shook his head in awe. While it may be a slight discomfort to sport the bruise on his torso and the shiner on his jaw, it was a worthy cause. Wayne only wished he knew what had occurred in the park after he and Grace had been incapacitated. He knew that the park would be crawling with police and crime scene techs by now, but what would they find?

Nothing much, he hoped.

He heard the squealing wheels of the Great Pudding Carrier leave the vicinity of his ward. He lost all hope of procuring a pudding. He would just have to wait until they got out of the hospital to satisfy his cravings. As long as they didn't try to ply him with carrots, he should be able to make it.

A ruby haired beauty poked her head around one of the curtains of his bed.

"Hey." Grace said in simple greeting.

"Van Pelt." He replied roughly, hoping the relief and emotion at seeing her wasn't too tinged with longing.

"How are you?" You never knew who was working in conjunction with Le Rouge Jacques these days; it wasn't safe to assume anything. They would have to talk in riddles, good thing they knew each other so well.

"I've been better... but I've also been worse. You know how it is." And she did know. Only last month she'd been attacked by a perp, the welt on her back from where the guy had thrown her into a barbed wire fence only just faded.

"Got you something." Grace said with a mischievous smile. She held out a pudding.

The Holy Grail, Rigsby thought.

He scoffed it down as quickly and as proprietarily as he could.

"You know," Van Pelt began, "they're going to want to know why we were in that park."

"I know that it seems like we should lie." Rigsby started, waving a calming hand when she shot him a surprised look. "But perhaps it's time to tell everyone the truth. We hid it for so long from Cho. It just, it doesn't see right to continue now that he's gone..."

"What do you mean, Rigsby?" She asked, her voice quavering with uncertainty.

"We have to tell them about our relationship." He answered.

The men manning the bug in Rigsby's hospital room sat astounded. They certainly hadn't seen that coming. They remained in awe, as Van Pelt slowly agreed with her colleague and now apparently her lover.

Well, this certainly put a dampener on the investigation. There had been whispers that Van Pelt and Rigsby were in some part responsible for the death of Agent Cho. But no one had believed it.

It certainly was beginning to make some sense now though, that what had been going on was a cover-up, but not of some conspiracy. A cover-up pertaining to their illicit affair.

They were in the park as a way to get some alone time, after the terribleness of losing their superior agent and of consoling his distraught mother, as well as the hounding of the reporters. Listening to their conversation it was clear that the two had been in this relationship for some time. They weren't simply having a fling or a romp, it was a full-blown partnership. The men in the tiny electronics room wouldn't be surprised if at some point later in life the two got married. They were slightly bickering in a relaxed format. As if they'd had this pudding versus custard debate many times and were simply rehashing old and fond memories.

They put the call into headquarters; nothing sinister going on here. But probably best to go in and do the requisite interview, the duo might get worried if no one came in to check up on them at all. They were quite smart. Smart enough to know that their clandestine affair was never going to remain a secret for a very long time. Not with the amount of surveillance and suspicion surrounding the advent of three villains in the city.

??!!??!!?!

_Must be the luckiest man alive, he thinks._

_Truly, he must be._

_A simple stroll through the streets; what luck._

_What fortune._

_What providence._

_Black as night, feet slapping down the pavement._

_Blue as dusk, wheezing gaps of the over-weight and unhealthy._

_Allied Police will never catch Sylph._

_Intervenes._

_Darkly glare at pudgy ally. _

_Sick at the thought of allegiance with pitiful being._

_Useful, though._

_Brought him Sylph._

_Allows the man continued breath._

_Portly Policeman aids him in journeyed quest. _

_Moves Sylph into back of van. _

_Stolen van, his now._

_Transports Sylph to lair. _

_Darts through open and gloriously shining streets._

_World joys at his discovery._

_Frenzied prospect of unmasking Sylph._

_Wait, wait. _

_Delay, delay._

_Do not destroy this rapturous experience, this feeling._

_So few nemesis are worthy of delay, of waiting._

_This one is, does, will be._

_Delay._

_Wait._

_Savor._

_Brushes fingers over masked skull._

_Will enjoy this.

* * *

_Uh oh, who is else is feeling the ominous-ness? ;)

Hope you all enjoyed this latest edition.

Arc


	9. ADJUST

_I totally had some one demanding some Cho, so of course I must oblige :)_

_It was my plan though, truly.

* * *

  
_

ADJUST

She woke suddenly.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence, not after so long hiding in the shadows and waiting for watchers, criminals and vandals. They often lived in the most dangerous parts of cities, and they were The Inscrutable and Sylph... it's not like they were supposed to be living it up in mansions and clean apartments with pretty windows overlooking parks or the ocean.

There were no twinkling lights and happy memories for them. Not as their 'public' personas anyway. It was their private personas that kept them sane, if either one of them could be called sane anymore. They'd been through too much, seen too much, done too much.

The Inscrutable even before the incident had always been slightly off-kilter, at least that's the way he described himself pre-LRJ. She herself would never have thought to circumvent conventional legalities in the many ways she had since teaming up with The Inscrutable. After the incident, The Inscrutable had compelled himself to follow his violently designed vendetta unflinchingly. Without remorse or second thought. A lot of his earlier work was sloppy, brilliant of course, but without purpose, side purpose that is. He often got what he wanted out of the action but the people who he interacted with were left behind without a second glance. Sylph had changed that. Even during their first cooperation she had refused to allow him the opportunities to throw people aside like indifferent animals or second-hand stuffed toys – useless to the purchaser, used memories and affections having no affect on The Inscrutable.

He was off-kilter. It was fact. After seeing what he had, experiencing and then following Le Rouge Jacques' trail across the country, no one could be unmoved; especially since they usually got to the scene of crime before law enforcement. They got to see the un-sanitized version. Le Rouge Jacques' allies would flow in, sanitize the area and the bodies and then they would allow the 'real' police and forensic scientists to approach the scene. It meant that the official documentation of the crimes were never complete, never truly closed and that meant that whole slews of victims went unheard and vindication was not an option for them.

The Inscrutable and Sylph tried to bring these factors to light. It had been one of their primary goals in the beginning, but Le Rouge Jacques reach was too pervasive. His hands, his eyes and ears and his bloodied twitching fingers were in too many pies, too many rooms, too many precincts. They could never get reality out in the open.

It was a desolate attempt.

It had been The Inscrutable who finally realized the futility of their actions. It had been time for a change in approach. They would have to move further out into the social consciousness. They decided to allow their alter egos the opportunity to move about more easily (without restriction), to find information in all of its homes and to force the police's hand, even if that meant doing so under the guise of criminals and law breakers.

Sylph was the more idealistic of the two. Even after experiencing (stumbling into) firsthand knowledge of Le Rouge Jacques baser predilections, she still believed that humanity was inherently drawn to being good. Or at least, not inclined to hurt others purposefully. Hers was an existence of daily ethical dilemmas; Le Rouge Jacques sorely tested her fortitude. She still clung to the idea of a greater good. Sometimes reputations had to be sacrificed in order to maintain or achieve that goal.

Sylph likened it to undercover operatives, those select few who broke laws in order to bring down larger criminal individuals or groups. They had been sanctioned by their governments to break minor laws to keep their cover in the pursuit of a greater cause, convicting a law breaker who destroyed lives. Only in their case, they weren't sanctioned, because as they found out the government was the one protecting Le Rouge Jacques. People had to prove themselves to The Inscrutable and Sylph; there were no second chances if they trusted the wrong person.

After a few cognizant moments, Sylph felt the strain of her shoulders, and the tight, uncomfortable pull on her elbows and wrists. She was sitting on the floor, hard – probably cement – backed up to a pole. It was cylindrical if the smooth, strange expanse at her back could be trusted. Her arms were wound around the pole, backwards. Thankfully, her mask and leathered costume was still in place.

Whoever had her hadn't tried to unmask her yet. But they would, it was too much of a pull, a curiosity. And if humanity was only one thing, it was curious.

She tested the bonds on her wrists.

A clinking sound chimed in the expanse of the room. It was too dark for her to see anything in particular; probably the choice of her holder.

Resting her hands on the floor behind her back and around the pole, she tried to remember how she had come to be in this position.

She remembered running. Down a street, in the city. The park.

She sighed and dropped her head.

Rigsby and Van Pelt's slight error, but it had had a doozey of a consequence. She'd had to knock them out and lead the non-friendly and overweight fourth cop on a race through the back streets. Trusting that Jones and Tyler would take care of Cho and The Inscrutable as well as keeping the third non-friendly cop busy enough with Rigsby and Van Pelt so as to not notice the two men (one dead and one criminal) hiding in the bushes.

She'd been running, not too fast, she wanted to keep the fourth cop's attention for a little while at least. She'd looked behind her to make sure he wasn't lagging too far behind. She needed to give Jones and Tyler some extra time, and who knew how The Inscrutable was faring having to hide, he hated that. A prickle at her neck informed her that someone was watching her progress with too much attention. Whirling around to face forward again, she'd been coat-hangered.

Someone had wiped her out with their arm.

Out cold.

She was never going to forgive herself for this.

But, if it had been someone who worked with the police, then she'd be in a jail cell, or some form on interview/detainment room. Since she wasn't whoever had knocked her out was working in conjunction with Le Rouge Jacques and had handed her over without a thought.

This was bad.

??!!??!!?!

This was bad.

Cho's steady gaze surveyed the apartment. It had been many hours since their altercation in the park.

Sylph had not returned.

The Inscrutable was becoming more anxious by the second. It was clear, Sylph should have returned by now. The sun had set and the night was only adding to their worry.

It should have only taken Sylph a minimum of two hours to get home; making sure that she hid her tracks and avoided the sights. But at the most, it should have also only taken roughly three hours for her to get back to the apartment, else she would have called and requested their help. Since she hadn't, and they had in fact not heard anything at all from their fellow crime-fighter, Cho was well aware something bad must have occurred.

Sylph was the more proprietary of the duo, she definitely seemed to enjoy following her own brand of procedure. She had clear goals on safety, even taking into account the nature of their 'jobs'.

She was the one who found the apartments and rigged them for their safety.

She was the one who scouted out the city streets finding the best places to hide and stash equipment.

She was the one who discovered the back streets and alleyways that could be used as shortcuts and safe-havens.

Sylph was also the one who infiltrated restaurants and shops searching for like minded individuals.

Her computers (the ones she had instinctively known Cho would appreciate – at least for their links into other governmental agencies) had databases full of people in San Realisto with whom they could trust, and notations into the varying degrees with which they could be trusted, with what information and why. There were also links to the people they could trust in other cities and across the country too.

Apparently Le Rouge Jacques wasn't as unnoticed as the media portrayed him to be. There were a few blogs that tracked a mysterious killer across the country, of course there were disparities and errors, but it was a comfort to know that the government's reach wasn't completely pervasive. Not exactly the patriotic belief a law enforcement officer of his caliber was supposed to believe, but then again, he wasn't exactly that line towing agent anymore. Too much had happened, Kimball Cho had died and a man without a name had replaced him.

He took a breath, and unsheathed his sword.

He had decided to get some practice in with his sword, other than his gun it was the only other true attribute he felt comfortable enough using around the abilities of The Inscrutable with his bewitching words and observations and Sylph with all of her silence and intellect.

Cho was smart, he knew that, it also wasn't something to apologize for; but he was methodical. He didn't really jump to conclusions, when he tried it just didn't pan out. He was the Watson to the instinctive Holmes. Actually, he realized that was pretty apt considering The Inscrutable was leaning against the apartment's window on the lookout for Sylph.

He wondered who Sylph might embody, in this re-invention of Arthur Conan Doyle's masterpiece. The characters were slipping away; he needed something else to concentrate on. Something... real.

He had already cleared away the living room's floor, moving the coffee table aside so that he could use the rug as his mat; the area for which he would practice his movements.

He defended against an imaginary foe. They fought quickly and with precision. He focused all of his energy on his movements, letting the situation and worry fade. It was a technique he used to get through college. Some people used exercise, running laps or swimming, riding a bicycle, going to the shooting range. Some people used books, transporting themselves into another world from the safety of their own homes, television and film did that too. But Cho used his sword, and his arts. They were what relaxed him.

He wasn't sure how long he practiced; eventually he noticed that The Inscrutable had retired to the bedroom – the secret room Sylph had first emerged from surprising them all.

Was that really only a few days ago?

He occupied himself with the business of getting ready for bed. He brushed his teeth in the small en suite, Sylph having prepared some essentials for him earlier. He changed into a spare pair of pajamas, and reclined on the couch. The Inscrutable and Sylph, unsurprisingly, weren't used to visitors; especially the kind that stayed over.

He dreamed of a strange world.

He oftentimes went there, mainly when he was stressed or feeling particularly emotional. The dream characters are familiar but odd, he can never seem to remember their faces, or even their names. But he feels at home with them. He trusts them, these dream friends... colleagues.

He is a cop there too.

He thinks.

When he wakes from the dream though, he is always confused.

Even in sleep Kimball Cho shakes his head at the oddity of his dreams.

He knows it does not matter, that in dreams you have to go with flow, let the dream river take you were it may. Like a leaf on the wind, you are subject to its natural order, you cannot effect change. You are merely an observer with an uninterrupted hand or view in the dream.

It's worse for Cho, because sometimes he cannot remember which world is his dream. This one or that one.

* * *

_On a sidenote I'd just like to say that there really is a big difference between Australian English and American English. I seriously have problems with all this remembering who says what and how is that spelled again?_

_At least it keeps my brain active I suppose._

_Any one else you feels the pain shout out ;)_

_Arc  
_


	10. RETREAT

RETREAT

_He can feel a presence, watching him, observing him. It is not unpleasant; there is no malice in the gaze. _

_It feels familiar. _

_There is an ebb to this flightlessness. He flickers quietly, waiting, but he does not know for what._

_He can hear another's breath close to his own, but it is not trying to intrude, merely watchful._

"_Wake up Cho." A voice calls._

"Wake up."

The Inscrutable watches the sleeping man with interest. He does not look much different from when he is awake, perhaps a little less stern.

This causes him to think of Sylph, and a painful clenching overtakes him.

The first time they shared a bed it was out of necessity. It had been a mixture or wrong and right. He'd lost family to Le Rouge Jacques, so had she. They were both too torn up to even consider their partnership taking on another form – other than simple, deadly vengeance.

The bed they shared that first time was in an attic, above an elderly couples' home. The married couple had been touched by their help out on a deserted, cold road. Their car had broken down, something relatively simple, but theirs was a new car, and the elderly gentleman was at a loss. The white-haired grandma, while mechanically minded, didn't know how to fix the problem either.

The Inscrutable and Sylph had managed to figure out the problem through the use of Sylph's fore-planning, they had torches and a little box filled with equipment stashed in the trunk of the car. The car's fuel pump was playing up. It was not something that could be fixed on the side of the road. She had offered the couple a lift home if they lived nearby, or to the same hotel that they were going to be checking into. As soon as the couple realized that the suited man and darkly clothed woman were going out of their way to help, they demanded the two accompany them back to their small farm-land home.

The Inscrutable had been delighted, a chance to see a couple in action, it had been awhile since he had been allowed the pleasure of uncomplicated observation. Sylph had been less inclined to agree to the proposal, but even she could not resist the elderly gentleman's polite pull and the soft grin of the woman.

Rupert and Dorcas McGinty.

It caused The Inscrutable to give a sentimental smile whenever he thought of them. They were a small slice of the world reminding him that not everyone had given into the darkness that encroached upon the earth.

Rupert had pottered about in the kitchen, preparing them dinner, while Dorcas had led them up a winding staircase to the attic. Theirs was a small house situated in a clean and empty valley. They farmed alpacas; which was slightly unusual for the area, but they told the duo over dinner that it was more a hobby farm to keep them busy during their retirement.

They ate a late dinner together, and then The Inscrutable and Sylph had retreated to the relative safety of the attic. The elderly couple were (politely) beginning to ask too many personal questions, and their reason for leaving the previous city was still weighing heavily on their minds.

There was only a small double bed in the attic, and slightly rickety bed-side table, with a small lamp atop it. The Inscrutable thought about doing the honorable thing, and letting Sylph have the bed to herself, but there didn't even seem to be a comfortable couch to curl up in... or even a few cushions to rest his head on.

Sylph had found herself settling into the bed and pulling him down too.

They didn't undress.

Sylph fell asleep first. She hadn't been living this life as long as he had, so the nervousness and the stress took more out of her than it did to him. Sadly, he was quite used to having to flee a city because the cops had gotten the wrong idea about them. It was becoming second nature to avoid everyone, to be suspicious of anyone looking at them a little too closely. It was a hard fact, they were becoming aware of, that Le Rouge Jacques' reach was extensive, that he had many fingers in many pies. The reporters were usually the first ones to jump on the Criminal Duo bandwagon.

So while Sylph was sleeping, The Inscrutable was pondering the addition of a new woman into his life. He wasn't opposed to it, she had the same passion as him, and while he wanted to be the one to disembowel Le Rouge Jacques, he was aware that he might need some help finding the man.

The bed was so tiny that he had long given up trying to keep a suitable amount of distance between them. Or was it a proprietary distance? At any rate, there was _no_ distance between them. To allow any comfort during sleep, The Inscrutable had given up pretense and curled around her petite body. Soon their breaths had synced, it wasn't a conscious decision; it was merely instinct. Her slow, steady sleeping breaths lulled him into sleep.

The sunlight woke him. It wasn't the sounds of the perpetually early-rising old people below stairs going about their morning rituals that woke him up, as was what he would have expected. It was the sun. This meant he had slept better this night than he had for the past several years and he knew Sylph had been the reason. It was the feel of another's body next to his, tucked in protectively under his own. Her deep breathing creating a sort of hypnotic trance, or maybe it was just that she was a comfort to him. The only familiar thing to him anymore.

She wasn't even truly familiar to him, but they were certainly spending a lot of time together. And, she was his partner. They had common goals. They were going to be together for a time; until Le Rouge Jacques had been stopped. He trusted her; he knew that much at least.

She woke up softly too, drawn into wakefulness from the abrupt change in his breathing.

"Morn'n..." Her disused voice rasped.

"Sun's up." He stated unnecessarily.

"Ugh."

A tiny smirk answered her thoughts. He continued to look at her. Really look at her. She was much rested, and he liked to think that it was because of his presence. Because they had shared the bed, shared body heat and maybe shared something else too.

That they might have formed a closer connection than a revenge-pact could afford.

He heard a scuffling on the stairs, and swiped a hand over her forehead, clearing her adorably messy hair from her face.

She allowed him, obviously having heard the noise too. It's not like Rupert and Dorcas were stealth ninjas trying to be discreet.

So when the door opened, and Dorcas peeked around the corner, she was greeted but what looked like an intimate moment between a couple.

And, The Inscrutable supposed, it was one. Only not the kind of moment a _romantic_ couple might be having.

It was statement of their closeness, their mutual understanding of each other, and their united purpose.

Of course, since that day, they just seemed to fit. In the past they had usually checked into hotel rooms that were twin share, two beds. People assumed they were business colleagues on retreat or travelling across country, with Sylph's statuesque body and no-nonsense approach, most though they were Feds. And what normal, everyday person wore a suit every day? Regardless of the weather? It was only logical to assume they were special agents with a secretive government agency. Small town minds liked to have some sense of excitement in their otherwise pastoral lifestyle.

Now though, after that 'fateful' meeting with Rupert and Dorcas, they slept together. In the same bed. They slept better. Less nightmares, less disturbed dreams. Safety in numbers almost. They could relax, draw comfort from each other.

It was months before their partnership traversed into relationship territory.

Sylph should have been back by now.

She certainly should have been back five hours ago.

Something had happened The Inscrutable was sure of it.

They needed to get busy; they needed to figure out where she was. First step was checking Jane Does' in the hospitals.

But the step before that was making Cho get up. The Inscrutable needed his newest unnamed ally up, awake and raring to go. They had a lot of ground to cover.

??!!??!!?!?

They'd been kicked of the case.

Out of the agency forever.

They were being sacked from the unit, from their jobs, their careers and their lives.

No, not really.

She was being overly dramatic.

But for goodness' sakes, just because it seemed like they'd just lost their superior officer to the dangerous criminal mastermind Sylph, and had been taken hostage and beaten up a smidge by the same villain... did not mean that they needed time off. If anything, since only she had Rigsby knew the truth, they needed to be back in the office, tracking down leads that would point them in the right direction.

That direction being wherever Le Rouge Jacques was... of course, no one else in their department knew that he man on the television who had brutally killed that anchorwoman was Le Rouge Jacques, but they did. And it was important that he be stopped too.

But, their boss' boss... not that Cho was their boss anymore, so technically it was actually their boss now that had given them the cease and desist order.

_Do not step foot into this building for three days minimum. _

_I'm hoping you two will take a week off and decide just how serious this relationship is. _

_Is it worth your careers? _

_Transfers people, they're not unheard of, I'm disappointed in you. _

_Especially considering..._

He hadn't finished that sentence. Too soon. No one would speak about Cho for a while. Not since he'd been killed so brutally by Sylph. And since they were his charges, so to speak, he had been responsible for them, it was quite clear that Cho had known about their relationship and had done nothing. He'd allowed it, and as there was such scrutiny being put upon their department, by the news especially, the top dogs couldn't afford for this scandal to begin.

They were protecting Sylph, The Inscrutable and Cho. She and Wayne knew that, but it meant that their professional reputations were taking a beating.

It was worth it. She knew that. It didn't make it any easier to bear. Grace had always thought that having a valid reason, having an honorable and 'right' reason for doing something would make the hard decisions, the hard choices a little easier. She could see now just how naive she had been.

Knowing what you were doing was right, didn't necessarily make it an easy thing to do, if anything it made it harder. It was easier to be selfish. To make decisions and choose to behave uncaringly or thoughtlessly, if you only focused on one thing, on yourself or on what you wanted, then that's all that mattered. You didn't think about the people that might get hurt, did get hurt, will get hurt. Your reputation and good name wouldn't matter either, because what you wanted was all that mattered to you, and if you didn't care about others, you wouldn't think about them.

Grace knew she and Wayne were doing the right thing, keeping secrets, protecting people, but in doing that, they were sacrificing their reputations. She had always believed that having an untarnished reputation was the most important thing. But she was now realizing that that wasn't true. Some things, people, were more important than something she was beginning to see was trivial.

Catching Le Rouge Jacques, stopping him, was more important than her career. Protecting Cho and The Inscrutable (and to some extent Sylph – because she was still mad at the man) was worth her job. They were the ones who had the best chance of stopping him. And she and Wayne needed to do this to help them. Too many people had already sacrificed so much to get them this far. She didn't want there to be any more victims, anymore people going through what that woman had...

Her reputation was worth that, at the very least. Grace Van Pelt may have wanted to be a law enforcement agent since her mid-teens, but upholding what was right and good for society meant doing the right thing, and the right thing meant that when those in power abused it, you stood up for the law and justice. You did what you had to, if that meant telling the truth finally, but by doing so lying about something else, then she was going to do it.

She and Wayne were going to have to do something about their relationship arrangement eventually anyway. She was in love with him. She wanted to marry him, and if he asked her today, she'd say yes. Eventually she'd want kids. She'd have to take time off anyway, for maternity leave and by then her place would be given away; she'd want to be in the field less. She'd have stopped being on the team soon enough. So, it happened a little earlier than she expected. Grace was okay with that, or... she would be. Eventually.

Wayne watched Grace as she paced the courtyard of his apartment block. She did that sometimes when she thinking, mad, angry, sad... it's just what she did.

He knew she was upset about the talking down they'd received yesterday.

But he knew it had been coming, had prepared himself for it. Grace not so much. She'd never been in trouble before. How high school that sounded... getting into trouble with the principal.

It was worse than that. They'd broken regulations. And then used it to cover up a meeting with known criminals, not that anyone knew that part of it. But he did. He knew how badly they were behaving, even if they had a good reasons it didn't really excuse their choices. They were still breaking the law, circumventing the judicial process.

He hoped no one ever found out, or if they did it was because they were heroes and were getting awards and interview rights for bringing down the worst criminal in recent history – Le Rouge Jacques.

He sighed, taking another sip of his coffee. But she did get that cute little crease between her eyes when she was truly peeved.

He hoped she'd come up soon, they needed to decide on their next move. They could 'go away', on 'vacation' for a week. Pretend to leave town and hole up in a motel or something, wait for Cho or someone to contact them.

He knew he was going to continue to help The Inscrutable and Sylph for however long it took to stop Le Rouge Jacques. He'd watched that televised broadcast of his depravity. He didn't want that to happen to anyone else, and he couldn't believe that his own government had been allowing this to occur for so long. If The Inscrutable and Sylph's records were to be believed (and he did believe them) Le Rouge Jacques had been killing for a long time, and someone had been covering it up; blaming The Inscrutable and Sylph for it ever since they'd begun to fight against him.

The door whuffed open.

"Hey." She said, walking closer to him to get a greeting kiss.

She tried to pull back; he grabbed her arms pulling her toward him tightly. He deepened the kiss.

She allowed it for a few moments, before pushing him away slightly.

"Coffee?" She questioned; tasting the remnants of his drink.

"New pot." He replied.

She busied herself in his kitchen, and he realized he never wanted her to leave. He always wanted to come home and know that she would be somewhere nearby, or on her way home to him too. He wanted to wake up on lazy Saturdays and kiss her in the late morning sunshine, or cuddle up one night to a movie and take-out; kissing her slowly on their couch, before stumbling leisurely to their bedroom. Not his bedroom or hers, but theirs. He wanted that, the constancy of knowing they chose to be together.

But now wasn't the time for that conversation.

She flicked her hair off her neck. She'd pulled it up into a ponytail coming up the stairs from the courtyard and now it was tickling her skin. The movement had revealed her neck and collarbone to Wayne. He licked his lips. She had no idea what she did to him, and she had no idea about the realization he'd just had. He knew he loved her. It was a given, they wouldn't have begun their little office affair for simple lust, but he hadn't known he felt this way about her.

He couldn't just sit beside her and not do something, say something. But he couldn't say what he wanted. He couldn't tell her he loved her like that, not now with everything that was happening, she'd probably blow off his declaration as stress, he didn't want her to doubt him.

He kissed her collarbone quickly, moving his way up over her jaw and to her mouth.

She stifled a surprised gasp; he was usually gentler with her. Not that she was minding it at all. As soon as his hands had reached for her, she was kissing him back with equal force. She wasn't sure where all of this emotion was coming from, but she was enjoying it.

They didn't make it to his bedroom.

* * *

_So, not exactly any action happening here, but some definite thought processes that needed some exploration._

_I hope you all enjoyed this newest post._

_Arc  
_


	11. RECOIL

_Okay so, my bad._

_I've had this chapter ready for a couple of days, actually almost half a week, but then there was a wedding to prepare for, and then the wedding, and then I crashed at a friend's after the wedding, and then I had to do the walk of shame - without there being any 'shame', or walking really 'cause I had my car. But yeah arriving home in full on wedding-ed up glory, with the pretty, pretty heels and nice dress early in the morning (cause it was still the weekend) so that I could go to work was not exactly a barrel of laughs._

_And then... I.... don't really... well... I don't know what happened but I must have just thought I did post, but obviously, not. So sorry.

* * *

  
_

RECOIL

She was counting time.

One hour, two minutes, fifty-six seconds...

Three minutes, two seconds...

Three minutes, seven seconds...

It helped to keep her mind alert.

Some people supposed that counting sheep helped put you to sleep. That had never really worked for Sylph. She'd get to about fifty, and wonder why anyone would need to count sheep... was it the sheep that was the important part? What if you preferred gorillas or marmosets?

Did that lessen the slumber quality?

Then her analytical mind would get in on the action. She'd start supposing that if you were a farmer you would probably need to – count sheep. But why would that be putting you to sleep? Wasn't the purpose of counting the sheep to make sure that all of your flock was intact, and that no sheep or lamb had gone astray?

If that was the case, you certainly wouldn't want to be putting yourself to sleep every five minutes. Your flock would disintegrate before you could even begin to make a living off of them.

Sylph concentrated on her breathing when she wanted to fall asleep. Kind of like a meditation. She thought about her muscles relaxing, her mind letting go of all the troubles of the day, the week, she'd sink back into the mattress and the sheets, let her head loll delightfully on the pillow. She'd snuggle into The Inscrutable if his body was available.

Smells helped too.

So the counting was actually helping her stay awake. She counted out the time because if she counted out imaginary sheep her imagination would start doing strange things with the Bovidae. Like making them purple polka dotted ewes with multitudes of cornrows... strange things happened when her sleepy imagination got involved. To The Inscrutables delight, there had been many late night conversations that had tickled his fancy... it was one of his favored downtime pastimes.

She sighed in the silence of the room. She wasn't entirely sure how long she'd been separated from Cho and The Inscrutable. She'd been knocked unconscious by the coat-hanger armed man, and brought here. So far she'd probably been awake from near on two hours, but other than that she had no idea.

She was still tied around a pole, and her butt was becoming a little numb from her extended stay on the ground.

Sylph did not sit.

??!!??!!?!

_Worthy foe._

_No sounds emerged from the cell._

_Self-controlled, self-contained, self-righteous._

_Sylph was everything he hated._

_Phone rings, outside world intruding once more._

_Ignores._

_Sylph – admirable adversary – much more interesting._

_Will wait a few more hours before de-masking, wants to savor every possible moment._

_Sets up the video to record in colored digital glory._

_Will send to the news stations to tell of his glee and work._

??!!??!?!

The Inscrutable and Cho had tracked down every trace of Sylph. They'd looked into Jane Doe's in every hospital, even some out of their own county. They'd even gone so far as the check homeless shelters and the morgue.

There was nothing.

The Inscrutable was getting more and more worked up. Cho was getting anxious. He didn't know the man well enough to get him to calm down, and at any rate he didn't believe anything he said or tried would have worked anyway. The man only seemed to respond to Sylph.

It was as if only her presence could calm the raging beast within in him. Even if most of the time it was the beast with the green eyes.

Cho had slipped his way into Sylph's computers, she hadn't left a password, but The Inscrutable had logged him on. He trolled through her back doors, snuck into police databases and tried to match up the date he knew about her disappearance with anything out of the ordinary.

He couldn't find anything.

Eventually, just out of pure curiosity, he checked up on Van Pelt and Rigsby. He wanted to know how they were doing with his _death_, and then their subsequent 'incident' with Sylph.

The reports were all wrong. The crime scene techs had botched the job, nothing could be found at the park, not even stray hairs or the thumb and finger prints of Van Pelt and Rigsby; which was strange.

Obviously, if two cops had been held hostage, tied to a park bench and roughed up a little, there would be physical evidence of the disturbance. The fact that there wasn't, was extremely telling.

The four policemen who had arrived on the scene at the same time had differences in their time stamps as well. Their recollections of the time line of events were off too. He knew that Jones and Tyler were protecting his secret (and subsequently Sylph's and their own), but Brown and Papadopoulos' shouldn't have had such variances either.

Especially Papadopoulos, what had he been doing when he was chasing Sylph?

Actually, that was a good point. He should bring that up with The Inscrutable.

The Inscrutable paced the small living room. He walked up one side of the room, cornered the table and stalked down the other.

He missed Sylph.

He missed her quiet presence, her short breaths upon the back of his neck at the beginning of the night, and the slow rise and fall of her ribcage in the morning. When he often woke up to find that at some point during the night he had turned them around so that she was sheltered beneath his larger frame.

He missed the smell of burnt sausage in the morning; not that she was a bad cook, she was exceptional actually, but their stove was lined with too much grease and grime. Even the hotplates seemed to be ringed in dirt; there was little point to cleaning it up. They rarely ate in, but sometimes Sylph tried for normalcy, and she only ever did so in the mornings. She'd go on a Susie-Homemaker bent and cook up an early morning storm. Scrambled or poached or sunny-side up eggs, sometimes eggs Benedict, depending on her mood; toast with various spreads, fruit, sausages, bacon rashers, and anything else their limited breakfast stock had to offer.

Cho had yet to experience a Sylph breakfast monstrosity. The Inscrutable thought he'd enjoy it.

He wasn't losing hope, he would never lose hope. Possibly... he'd lose hope of finding her alive, one day. But he would never lose the hope, the belief that he _would_ find her. He'd found out who killed his first family, granted he was still attempting to bring that man to justice. His own brand of justice. But he was a patient man, he was a believing man. He believed that he could affect things, that he could change certain things, this was one of them. He would find Sylph, even if it was years later as an old and grizzled, hate-filled man, he would take his last breaths on the trail of his missing partner.

His first family was gone, he knew where they were. He found them in a pit of blood and the stench of fear still lingering. But he had struggled through the realization, he had discovered them. He had vowed later, after the shock had dissipated and the stark terror and horror had solidified into hate and vengeance; he had vowed to locate the creature that had killed them, find and destroy him.

That was how he had met Sylph. She had stumbled into her own version of terror and horror. He had reluctantly helped her, he hadn't wanted to at first, too used to his solitary existence. But she was stubborn and persistent, and far too beautiful for her own good. She wasn't classically beautiful, but there was spark, a definite _something_ that drew him to her.

Probably her eyes.

But now she was missing, and she'd never been missing before.

He'd misplaced her on occasion. Usually his own pig-headedness leading him off the garden path, and she had always found him. Or he had eventually made his way back to their 'apartment', or whatever was substituting itself as their home for the time being; where they would have a passionate fight which would then be reconciled through other passionate... pursuits.

He wanted her back, and he was running out of leads. He wasn't the one who followed the leads and pretended to be some kind of investigative reporter... Sylph did that, she was talented at it too.

Now he had Cho, and Cho had been taking on those aspects of investigating, at least over the phone he had. They couldn't exactly afford for him to be seen. And while The Inscrutable could hypnotize with the best of them, in fact he constituted the best of 'them', it was time consuming and much easier for everyone involved if they simply contacted persons of interest over the phone.

As unfair as it was his brain kept parroting the same thought at him; that is wasn't a good trade.

Cho for Sylph.

As much as he admired the man, and the way he had handled himself with his entire world being tipped sideways, he couldn't fill the rapidly expanding gap that Sylph filled. Besides, The Inscrutable certainly didn't swing that way... even if Cho was an attractive man.

Cho had his attributes, and he was helpful, strong, courageous and steadfast. He was disciplined and knowledgeable; and he certainly knew his way around a sword.

But he wasn't Sylph, and though The Inscrutable knew he was beginning to sound petulant he was kind of glad of that fact. He really missed her. He wanted her back, and he was beginning to think he didn't know how to function without her. And that was a slightly disturbing if fuzzy feeling.

He never wanted to be dependent on another for happiness (not again), but it had happened and he couldn't find it in him to regret. If anything, it only made him more determined to find her.

??!!??!!?!

She wasn't counting time, this time.

She was counting breaths, like sheep in that way.

Every painful intake and every shaky exhale, every rattle and shudder.

With every breath, she also inhaled the smells.

Dust and dirt and grime, oil and grease, a weird gasoline aroma intermingled with turpentine or rubbing alcohol, maybe vinegar... and blood.

Her blood.

Sylph's blood.

Sometimes Sylph and she were separate entities, sometimes they were the same. In this instance, they were certainly different. Sylph, stoic and calm on the outside while she was crying and whimpering on the inside. She thought she'd be stronger than this, one slice and she's a blubbering mess.

She knew who had her now. The Inscrutable would lose his last remnant of sanity and humanity if she didn't make it through this.

Le Rouge Jacques had her. He had finally managed to capture the mysterious and illusive Sylph.

He hadn't taken her mask off. She'd been surprised, but he soon quietened any of her misgivings on the subject. He was going to; he was going to enjoy it too. He was going to savor it and wallow in the joy of it.

But first he was going to have a little broadcasted fun before he ruined the mystique that was Sylph.

He had set up a video-recorder. She now had intimate knowledge of what his victims felt, the horror they endured.

But this was worse.

So much worse.

He was playing with her, he was teasing and extending the torture. With his other victims there was always a goal, a short one. One that was never too far off. But this was different. He wanted the length. He wanted to drag it out as far as possible. He wanted her (Sylph) to suffer on a level none of his other victims had.

She supposed she should be flattered that he thought so highly of her... if it didn't hurt so much, perhaps she would. In a very twisted way, Le Rouge Jacques made sense to her. She knew the depths of The Inscrutable's hatred for this man and while she wanted him brought to justice, she wasn't entirely sure that she could go through with the level of depravity The Inscrutable sometimes thought about sinking too.

She just wasn't built that way, maybe it was the maternal instincts she'd been given... she knew that at some point at least she did hate the man; her initials desires for catching Le Rouge Jacques were tinged with hatred and a fire that lent itself to her walking away so that The Inscrutable could do _whatever_. But since she and The Inscrutable had been together, she didn't think she could let him do that alone, let his hatred and vengeance change him that way, without her by his side.

Whatever they ended up doing with Le Rouge Jacques, if it was going to change them irrevocably, then she wanted it done together.

But right now, she didn't see herself getting out of this situation alive.

She cringed, waiting for the moment Le Rouge Jacques discovered she wasn't just some man that had partnered up with The Inscrutable. She didn't want to seem that weird gleam in his eyes when he realized that she was that woman. That sort of innocent woman, that rookie detective, who had stumbled across him and her sibling in that warehouse, floor coated in sticky blood.

She didn't want him to know that he had had that much of an effect on her, on her life.

She didn't want Sylph to have become such an important part of her life because of death and Le Rouge Jacques. She hated that she had become the person she always wanted to be, because of him.

That she had met and fallen in love with The Inscrutable because of _him_.

That pretty much summed out how perfect and screwed up her life was.

And none of that would change. Not until Le Rouge Jacques was brought to justice. By any means necessary.

She had long given up the high road, and she found she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

The umpteenth knife slice brought her back to the present.

She felt the blood rise and seep through the cut leather... he hasn't even attempted to pull off her jacket. It's as if the costume is part of the reveal, he wants it to stay on. And if that doesn't send her mind someplace dirty and creepy she's not sure what will.

She always aware of the camera too.

She wonders what its purpose is, is he contemplating sending this footage to the news stations? The big reveal of Sylph.

She hopes not. She doesn't want The Inscrutable to have to see that.

And really, that's about the only thing she's worrying about at this point. Not that she's in pain, will probably have scars if she survives... if she survives. All she cares about at this point is him. The Inscrutable, she doesn't want him to see this, to have to go through this again. They knew it was a possibility, but she had truly hoped they would have just found Le Rouge Jacques and taken care of him, never having to get caught by him or hurt by him again.

That was what she never wanted; The Inscrutable getting hurt again.

* * *

_So the real bad is beginning my friends :)_

_Arc  
_


	12. REFUGE

REFUGE

"You have to see this!" Risgby came running down the hallway. Grace had been in the shower, just getting out actually, when she heard his thundering feet speeding towards her.

"What is it?" She asked, throwing a towel around her body and trying to ignore the wet tendrils of hair sliding down her back.

"It's.... it's..." He didn't actually know what it was, he just knew it was bad, and that Grace needed to see it. He couldn't explain it. Didn't want to. It was horrible.

He dragged her out of the steaming bathroom and into the living room. The television was blaring and it took her a few moments to understand the images she was seeing.

Le Rouge Jacques was back.

That same cackling, gruff voice over the airwaves. This time there is no promise of future.

No promise of a next step, a plan.

Merely a trade.

Grace stopped breathing. What kind of trade is Le Rouge Jacques contemplating offering the citizens of San Realisto? Would they bend to his wicked desires? Would _he_?

The television screen was showing a darkly clad figure. Slumped on the floor, blood caking limbs and torso. Masked.

She knew this figure. It was Sylph.

Only people who had seen Sylph before would know who it was. To everyone else of San Realisto (and any other people hooked into the news stations) it would merely look like Le Rouge Jacques (or since they didn't know it was him; strange murdering guy from the other day) had stolen a random guy off the streets and dressed him to keep the identity a secret.

Grace felt sick. Even though she didn't like Sylph. Didn't approve of the choices he had unilaterally made, she never wanted _this_ to happen. No one deserved to be tortured by that man. She'd seen the pictures The Inscrutable and Sylph had collected. No one deserved that. Especially not someone who was working with The Inscrutable to try and stop the evil-doers of this country. Especially when their goal was to stop Le Rouge Jacques.

The screen changed and she stood in a shocked awe as Le Rouge Jacques hands, one still carrying the blade, hovered near the body of Sylph.

"Do you wonder who's behind the mask?" His voice pondered. "I do, often."

His fingers caressed the face-mask, he trailed down Sylph's chin.

It was strangely intimate.

It was creepy.

He grasped at one of Sylph's bloodied arms. And squeezed. Knuckles whitening with the force used.

She heard Wayne breathe a curse. That had to hurt Sylph, but he made no sound of discomfort. She wondered if the man was unconscious. But then he moved, as if he were trying to shy away from Le Rouge Jacques.

"You do that a lot. I'm so impressed with you. No one has ever silenced their pain before. You're special." Le Rouge Jacques whispered, loud enough for the camcorder to hear.

Then, finally, for the first time in the history of his existence Le Rouge Jacques allowed the world to see his face.

It was a pleasant face. Warm, greeting and comfortable. Grace shuddered to think that many a person would think nothing of this man offering you a lift home, entering your store, sitting next to you on a bus or train. This was the type of face that screamed 'safe', probably why he'd had no trouble falling into the world of killing and blood.

He grinned at the camera, his looming face sending itself out into the world of reality.

"I'll trade for you." He said, "I'll give you one hour. Come to the arcade by Il Divino's." He said.

Then the film abruptly shut off, and the anchorman sat in stone. The poor man obviously didn't know what he was supposed to say to that.

Suddenly, his prompt writer must have realized the man needed some directions. Soon the anchorman 'Charles Tingle' started spouting ideas and theories over who the victim was... every station soon jumped on this theorizing bandwagon.

Wayne and Grace stayed in the living room of his apartment gazing sightlessly at the frenetic screen. They knew exactly who Le Rouge Jacques had been talking to – The Inscrutable.

Le Rouge Jacques wanted The Inscrutable to give himself up for Sylph. Obviously, Le Rouge Jacques was aware that they were partners. It must have been quite obvious to the criminal and he must have taken some kind of perverse pleasure from knowing that the pair were being blamed for his misdeeds.

Wayne broke of their rapture first. He immediately began getting ready, finding a duffel bag he started throwing every available weapon into it.

"Now, I know that technically we're on leave. But this is obviously an emergency. They're going to need help locking down that arcade place." He said, while throwing a pair of shoes near her feet.

"What?" She managed to reply.

"Grace. Think about it, that arcade, in fact the whole area, is about to be flooded with enthusiasts, reporters, on-lookers and the stupid trying to get close to the action. They won't be thinking about the fact that a blood-thirsty murderer will be in their midst, nor that it's going to take The Inscrutable and... a long time to get there, if they've even been watching the television at all."

He made sense... she spent the next few minutes making sure she was ready too.

Then she rang their bosses, asking them where they were needed on site. It was a mark of how bad the situation was that the boss didn't even stop to think about where they were to be placed. Or that they're supposed 'vacation' was an ordered and forced one. They were immediately directed to the focal point of the coming craziness.

??!!??!!?!

Cho was watching The Inscrutable pace the small apartment with a little, teeny, tiny bit of terror.

He'd always thought that Sylph was the scary one, and that The Inscrutable was the slightly deranged, funny, approachable one.

He was _so_ wrong.

After getting to know them. The real _them_, not the personas they showed the world. Cho had realized that Sylph was the nice one, the genuinely nice one. She was the sane one too. The Inscrutable was broken, and he supposed you would be after having a personal run-in with Le Rouge Jacques. But Sylph had too, and she was nowhere near as deranged as he was.

Cho didn't know exactly how that had happened, whether having another person questing with you made a difference. Cho didn't know how he would have handled his _death_ if he hadn't had Sylph and The Inscrutable and Van Pelt and Rigsby around to support him. He supposed he may have lost a little bit of humanity too.

As soon as that video of Le Rouge Jacques torturing Sylph had started to play, The Inscrutable had started to twitch and shudder in rage. Cho understood the feeling.

As soon as Le Rouge Jacques made that offer. He knew, he just _knew,_ that The Inscrutable was going to do it. And he was going to do it without so much as a thought to a plan of action. But then he was in love with Sylph. That probably changed everything.

The thing was though that Le Rouge Jacques, obviously, hadn't taken Sylph's mask off yet. He had no idea that Sylph was a woman. Not that that mattered entirely, but that Le Rouge Jacques was still thinking that Sylph was just some nameless, faceless partner of The Inscrutable. He didn't know she was his _partner_, his lover and friend and confidante. He didn't know that she was _his_ everything.

So while Cho knew that Le Rouge Jacques was making a very big mistake, he also knew that The Inscrutable was about to make one too. There was absolutely no guarantee that by going into that arcade, that Sylph would be released. And even if she was, Cho knew, the police were already cordoning off that area so that the populace of the city might be that tiny bit safer. It wasn't going to work. Cho knew that area near Il Divino's like the sheath of his sword. It was too larger and sprawling, too many back alleys and hutches, too many open areas and stairs and gardens. It wasn't going to work. No matter how many cops they put out on patrol there, The Inscrutable was going to get in, so was Le Rouge Jacques, and somehow they were going to get away; there was absolutely nothing that the police could accomplish. They weren't going to catch anyone today.

But Cho knew one thing. If he knew anything at all, he knew this. Sylph and The Inscrutable needed him there today. They needed him as the cool, calm and collected back-up. He needed to make sure that The Inscrutable didn't do anything stupid, that Sylph got away free, and preferably un-dead, and that their real identities – their faces – were kept hidden. At least from the public. Didn't The Inscrutable realized that tonnes of reporters and cameras were currently flooding into that area?

His face was going to be on the cover of every magazine, newspaper and website within the next hour.

This trade was going to ruin everything they'd been planning for. Their lives were going to be uncovered.

But, just maybe, someone could turn this situation around.

Cho just had to figure out a way, a thought, an idea, a fleeting light bulb flicker – anything. He just needed something to snap in his brain. Something, so he could try and fix this. Even if he had no idea how...

The Inscrutable was prettying himself up. It was a little weird to watch a grown man preen. Excessively. But it did make a certain sense. The Inscrutable had a distinct look; you wouldn't want just anyone being mistaken for the suited, hypnotic criminal/vigilante hero.

"Remember," Cho called from the small kitchen side of the apartment, "there will be cameras, you're going to need a mask."

"I despise masks." Came the reply.

"Oh, in that case, you can just hypnotize the entire country."

He heard the answering growl. The Inscrutable would be wearing a mask. His true face was too important a secret.

But they didn't have any masks in the apartment. Except for Sylph's spares; and they weren't going to fit The Inscrutable and Cho. Fat heads, the both of them.

Cho threw on his dark gold trench coat, it was the only thing costume-wise he had going for him. And since his 'death' had been highly publicized he certainly needed all the costume help he could get.

Cho was wondering, once again, how The Inscrutable and Sylph got around town. They certainly did not have a car. It would be useless to rely on the public transport system and taxi's were expensive. It all made sense when The Inscrutable ducked behind a partition in the alley out of the back of their apartment complex, pulled back a dirtied and tattered tarpaulin to reveal two motorcycles.

Cho sighed. Of all the times for Rigsby to be right, this was not one of them. About a year ago, Rigsby had discovered that Cho did not know how to ride a motorcycle. He and Van Pelt had had a good chuckle over it, (a long chuckle, including some un-lady-like snorts from Van Pelt) and told him it was practically a requirement to be well versed in the many vehicular modes of transport. Cho had denied that. They'd all gotten into a rather heated discussion about whether Cho would ever need to know how to ride a motorcycle. Eventually, once it was clear that Cho wasn't going to budge from his standpoint, Rigsby had made a bet. If, at any point in the future, Cho had the need to ride a motorcycle he would owe Rigsby and Van Pelt one hundred and fifty dollars (the pot being fifty each). Cho had thought easy winnings. Only now it wasn't. Apparently The Inscrutable and Sylph zipped around town on two-wheels of thin vertical death traps. He shook his head. He didn't know how to drive one of those contraptions.

"Looks like we'll be doubling." The Inscrutable said softly.

"Yep." Cho replied, waited for The Inscrutable to swing his leg over the bike, before moving forward to hop on the back. He didn't have a helmet, and he would never have fitted into Sylph's so he double-checked the sturdiness of his sword's strap and concentrated on moving with the motorbike, not against it. They did not need him falling off spectacularly and ruining The Inscrutable's image.

Cho was still thinking about the secrecy issue (mainly so he wouldn't be thinking about how easy it would be for him to fall off the two-hands width seat) when the motorcycle suddenly shunted to a stop. The Inscrutable had pull-braked them into a very small space between two economy-sized cars. Cho looked around the deserted streets; ever since the first playing of Le Rouge Jacques' video everyone was either making their way to Il Divino's or holed up in their homes. He realized nearly all the shops had closed down and any stragglers were going to be having some problems finding their way home.

That's when he realized that The Inscrutable was trying to get off the bike, and it wasn't working very well since Cho was still clutching to the man with an incredible amount of strength. Did he mention he was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of motorcycles?

Once he relented his death grip, he _finally_ noticed that they were outside Masquer-Aid, _the_ Mask shop in San Realisto. It wasn't open. But that didn't mean much to The Inscrutable. He quickly picked the lock, darted inside and returned with what was probably the closest two masks. A gray one and a bronze one; one mask for each hand.

The gray one was slightly demonic in features. It was shiny and covered the whole forehead, across the cheeks and down partially covering the top lip. It was a dark gray, somber and menacing.

The bronze one looked more feminine. It was smooth and hard looking, resolute almost, but in a complete contrast to its coloring and texture it was adorned with feathers. Lots and lots of bronze dipped feathers. The usually soft and fluttering idea of feathers had been mutilated by this particular mask. The feathers were stiff and slightly frightening; they shot up over the right temple, spanning almost two hands into the air. And it sparkled. It glittered. The entire thing shone in diamante disaster.

Cho hoped that wasn't his one.

It was.

There was no way he was going to be wearing those ridiculous feathers.

The Inscrutable quickly donned his mask; it was one that was attached to some form of headband, but one that went around the sides (horizontally) of the skull. Did that make it easier to stay on? Cho had no idea, but why couldn't he have the manly mask, why did he get stuck with the feathered monstrosity?

"Get on. Quickly." The Inscrutable ordered. They didn't have much time to get to Il Divino's and the arcade.

He mounted the bike and hoped this time he wouldn't hold on quite so hard this time. It was a tad embarrassing, thankfully though The Inscrutable hadn't said anything. He was definitely more worried about Sylph.

As The Inscrutable zipped through the emptying streets of San Realisto, Cho studied his mask with an intenseness that belied his hatred of it. He had a thought. Sparkles he could handle, feathers he could not.

He ripped them out.

It looked... better.

Sort of.

Whatever; mask sans feathers was a much better option.

It was a tie job too, he clung to The Inscrutable with his knees and tied the mask onto his head, making sure to doubt-know the cords of the bronze mask.

Just as he was finishing up, and reaching back around to grab hold of The Inscrutable waist, the motorcycle roared. They swung backwards a little, and he realized the bike was moving on only one wheel, the back one.

They spun through a pedestrian-only walkway and darted into a covered parking garage.

The Inscrutable drove them to the roof, and kicked the stand out while shutting off the engine.

They were here.

The Inscrutable turned around and noticed Cho in his 'costume' for the first time.

Dark boots, dark gold trench coat that allowed for easy movement, ebony handled sword and an ethereal bronze mask. It was perfect.

"Now we just need a name." He said.

Cho looked confused. Or he would have if anyone could have seen his face. As it was, The Inscrutable deduced he was confused from his body language.

When it became apparent Cho wasn't going to offer anything up, The Inscrutable chose for him.

"The Guardian, then."

"Just Guardian, no 'the', too pretentious." Cho replied.

The Inscrutable smirked, it was pretentious having a 'the' in your name, but The Inscrutable was pretentious, no use in trying to deny it. But he was correct; there was nothing pretentious about Cho... or Guardian, as he was now.

They walked solemnly toward the edge of the roof's parking area. The lower roof of Il Divino's was seen clearly as was the arcade they were meant to be meeting Le Rouge Jacques in. They could clearly see the interested and annoying crowds, the hustled cops trying to maintain peace and safety, and the reporters circling like vultures.

It was about to get very interesting.

* * *

_I hope that sated your thirst for this story._

_It just started pouring out of me... seriously I wrote it in record time. I'm pleased with myself. ;)_

_Arc_


	13. KNOWING

**_Can we all say... calm before the storm???_**

* * *

KNOWING

_Cho/Guardian was not quite sure where he was._

_It was dark, and he'd been certain that the sunlight of the hot San Realistan sun had been beating down on the concrete and brick parking garage._

_Shimmering heat waves rising in the distance; blurring the sea, the beach and the roads. Bright lights glaring distinctively as they bounced and reflected off sloped roofs. Sounds and cries of birds and crowds. _

_Where exactly was he, and why was he here?_

_He and The Inscrutable had just finished surveying the surrounding areas._

_Hadn't they?_

_Had they?_

_Clarity came into view, but this time no voice accompanied presence._

"Hey... you here?" Cho/Guardian asked the rooftop.

There was no answer.

He certainly wasn't about to go calling out for 'The Inscrutable', he did not want a multitude of cops descending on him like a plague of locusts.

He swore silently, wondering how long he'd been gone.

It wasn't something he liked to think about, but it was a fact.

He lost time.

It was never commented on, just accepted. As if that was just the way the world worked. But he usually had to wait a few moments for the past to reassert itself. Catch him up, so to speak, or catch up to him? He wasn't sure which.

He felt the ebony-handled sword at his back slap at his back and reached around to reassure himself.

It was still there, ready for use.

Ready to protect.

He stalked to the edge of the roof and looked over assessing the esplanade, the arcade and Il Divino's... the square and the spectators.

It was too busy, and where was The Inscrutable?

Guardian knew The Inscrutable had not incapacitated him. He was sure the other man had contemplated it, but he had not acted on the thought. He would be needed. Guardian was certain of that fact.

He knew which direction The Inscrutable would be going in; he just wasn't sure which direction in that particular direction he was going to take.

There were multiple entries to the arcade. Thankfully though, the police had already gotten in on the action and had evacuated the arcade. There would be no underage casualties during this showdown.

Guardian stilled a shudder.

Le Rouge Jacques and The Inscrutable battling it out over the body of Sylph; hopefully the still breathing body of Sylph.

If she were dead, this city had no hope against The Inscrutable's revenge.

He'd raze it.

It would be completely unavoidable.

Cho understood the man's pain, his guilt and his hate. Guardian did not. The longer Cho was dead, the more his emotions, feelings and beliefs were sinking under the weight of Guardian.

Guardian did not live for vengeance (like The Inscrutable) or even justice (in the way Sylph did). He lived for an abstraction. The only family his previous identity had was a mother, and she soon would move on from this life. Old age, no disease that he knew of... but life eventually killed all. It was only natural.

Friends remained only in Van Pelt and Rigsby. But even they were now not the friends of Kimball Cho. He ceased to exist a little under a week ago. Perhaps it had been time, Guardian did not know. All Guardian knew was that Cho's time had come. And that time had been interfered with by Sylph.

Like a breath of air, she had given him a second chance, a chance to affect change within their community, within their city. A chance to be something more than a beat cop, more than a special agent, more than a member of the local law enforcement, more than merely the front line defense against the darkest of human urges and desires. Sylph (and to a lesser extent The Inscrutable) had given him the opportunity to become something more to the city. He had been given this name and this identity by The Inscrutable, perhaps as a joke, perhaps as something more.

Perhaps, he could be the guardian of this city.

??!!??!?!

The Inscrutable hopped down a curling staircase. It was rickety and rusting but it was workable. And he wouldn't need it for more than reaching the ground level. He piggy-backed from roof to roof onto the roof of Il Divino's; he had chosen the restaurant as his access to the arcade. He could pick up some useful, handy weapons there too.

He wasn't a gun or sword man. He preferred to use words and his face to gain entrance to places, preferred to use his words to cut and devour his enemies.

But not this time.

This time he was going after Le Rouge Jacques. This time it was guaranteed.

This time he was going to be face to face, for the third time.

And the third time's the charm, right?

And he was fully stocked up on charm; he didn't need any spells or hypnotism either.

All he needed was his hatred, and a weapon. If it got to that point, he was certain he could conquer with bare hands. He just preferred not to.

He walked with purpose through the dining area. It had already been emptied thanks to the local police, they came in handy once in every while. He strolled past delicate table arrangements, ivory and cream, tall stemmed flowers – never wilting – and thought that bringing Sylph to this place for dinner would have been an excellent idea had he ever set foot in the restaurant before.

He plucked a bud from one of the tables as he passed, dropping it carefully into the pocket of his jacket. He was pleased with the contrast to his silvery-gray suit. He'd give it to Sylph to celebrate the death of Le Rouge Jacques.

He did not contemplate the thought that Sylph was already dead.

It was an impossible thought.

He did not want to hurt anyone other than Le Rouge Jacques, and if that inhuman creature had taken another family member from him...

He idly wondered where Guardian had wandered off to, but overall was not mindful of the other man. While they had begun a tentative partnership, the five of them to begin with, then their strange trio (the un-dead), the man was in no way close enough to encroach on his thought processes regarding Sylph. There were just some things that could not be explained. That he didn't want to explain, that he wouldn't.

His relationship with Sylph was one of them.

If Guardian was observant, perhaps he might have figured some things out for himself. As it was he and Sylph were not demonstrative in front of others.

At this point, The Inscrutable nearing the deserted kitchen galley and the many wonderful weapons within, he did not care for Guardian or what he may be doing or not doing.

He only had two foci. One; find Sylph and two; find Le Rouge Jacques (so I can kill him).

And really, focus one led to focus two which led to the death of Le Rouge Jacques. So it was really one big goal. Whichever way got him there first was the winner. And all roads don't lead to Rome, they lead to death; which suited The Inscrutable fine.

??!!??!?!

Somehow, and he wasn't sure how, he and Grace (Van Pelt – cop mode now) had been stationed toward the rear of the arcade. It was a hard angle to get to; deliveries were made down the side because the backstreet wasn't approachable from any angle. It was a dead end backyard tuft of ground. Oddly shaped, and too cramped to be of any use for anything. Il Divino's took up too much room beside the arcade, and consequently that part of the block of land seemed to be the _Ganga_ area; if the butts and left-over plastics had anything to say about the matter.

But that was a cop observation best left for another time. In the grand scheme of life, a serial killer offering trade-offs on national television beat the realization that the back of an arcade was a teen drug-den. It actually didn't really even make a blip on the legality radar.

Wayne Rigsby huffed and reshouldered his extra gun. He'd added the chest piece when he'd gotten to the site and realized just how many people they were dealing with.

Once, when he'd been younger and thought people were smart (as a whole) he'd been called out to a suspected bomb threat. It was merely a scare, but it had been at a shopping center. The fire alarm had been sounded, because really who had an alarm specifically geared toward bombs (unless you worked for a highly secretive and classified government agency). The staff had acted according to their training and escorted the civilians out, before getting themselves out. Except, the shoppers... they had all lined up outside the shopping center, jostling for better looking-positions. They lined every available window and sliding door, trying to peer into the complex, to get a better look at the 'disaster'.

It was a bomb scare!

What if there had actually been a bomb? What if it had gone off? They'd all be dead, and their families would have no one to blame because the shops' owners and the police had tried to get them away, but they just kept coming back. Like the clichéd moth to flame.

Only it had been consumers to the spectacle. What did that say about the current state of society?

He shook his head as he surveyed the closest civilians to the arcade.

Were they asking to be killed? To be murdered?

Or were their lives that boring that they simply had no place better to be than lining the awkward and heavily cordoned off streets of this area. Waiting for a minute glimpse of the lunatic who was torturing a human being inside the arcade?

Perhaps they wanted a glimpse of The Inscrutable. If he was coming. There had been some contention on that issue within the police force, and some of those rumors had even been making their way onto the news stations, those vultures were always up for some sensationalizing.

Something, and Rigsby would never be able to pinpoint exactly what, made him look up.

Far up on the roof of the three story building behind them was a figure in yellow. The frame of the person familiar, but unearthly.

He squinted, but was looking directly into light. He quickly ducked his head and moved over toward Van Pelt.

"Van Pelt, six o'clock, top of the building. What do you see?" He asked.

Van Pelt slowly turned; no need to draw the crowds' attention to anything out of the usual. They were already jittery and expectant.

"Nothing there." She replied.

Rigsby lifted his head, and noted the figure had disappeared. He gave her a grim look. _Be prepared._

She lifted an eyebrow in response, but said nothing further. Merely rechecked her own weapons.

??!!??!?!

She concentrated on her breathing, knowing that at any minute The Inscrutable would be walking into the building, a fiery blaze of contempt and hatred.

She would be an afterthought to his primary goal.

She understood him too well, no matter how much she'd like to believe that he was coming for her... she understood the pain in him intimately. She had experienced it, but she had gone through the pain and loss and hatred with him by her side. A steady hand, a soothing voice.

A soothing, terrible voice, but a soothing one none-the-less. He understood what she was going through and somehow having him with her had lent her the space, and the time, the manoeuvrability to _somehow_ keep her humanity. Or a sliver of it at least.

Yes, she hated Le Rouge Jacques, and yes, she wanted him to pay for what he had done – not only to her family, but to everyone else's too... and to his future victims. But she wasn't playing for the past. She was playing to protect those in the future.

The past was full of the dead, and while painful and horrible and so... heart tearing, chest aching and mind numbing, she was in this for the future. She was doing this for... she had made that first choice, to protect others. She was doing this for the others; whoever they might be. She had chosen to join The Inscrutable (after waking up in his grungy mobile-home, terrified and sickened) because she never wanted another person to have to endure what she just had.

And she had failed.

So many times.

They had failed so many times since then.

But the person she had been before never gave up, and neither did Sylph. Granted this life-time around she chose different avenues and used different weapons, and flouted the law. But she did so with a clear purpose. With a higher calling she supposed (reconciled, justified to herself) sometimes in the darkness with The Inscrutable breathing quietly beside her.

She skirted the legal system so one day everyone could have their justice. But that's not why The Inscrutable did it. That's not why The Inscrutable chose to live his life this way. He only had one reason, and that reason was enough for him. He was all about pure, unadulterated rage and vengeance.

Maybe he was so blinded to the rest of humanity because he had struggled alone for years before she joined him. Before they somehow fell together and worked out a partnership. She knew there were some aspects of him that even she couldn't see and understand. There were aspects of him so closed off; at times it was like she didn't know him at all.

But he was halved, two-faced almost. Not in a mean or greedy or delusional way. But he kept those parts of him locked away, festering, because it cost him too much to let those emotions out.

So, there was a small part of her (that most times she tried to ignore) that believed he was coming only for Le Rouge Jacques. That she had only given The Inscrutable the opening he needed to kill the _man_.

She wanted him to be coming to save her, but most of her believed she was merely the after-thought. The collateral damage of revenge. An up-side collateral damage sure, but still an after-effect of the main goal.

Not that she blamed The Inscrutable for that; she wanted Le Rouge Jacques stopped just as much as he did. Perhaps, her death would cinch that deal with the fates.

If so, she could handle that.

* * *

_Ah, the calm. Isn't it a wonderful feeling???_

_Arc  
_


	14. KARMA

_Sorry about the wait... had lots of pretty, pretty injections at the start of the week, and my immune system has been epically battling the little microscopic monsters trying to make me the best me I can be - and also, you know, not get sick when I escape my sea-locked country ;)

* * *

_

KARMA

His fingers itched to reveal the face behind the mask.

They were drumming a repetition across the aged plastic tables. The cracking and yellowed, soda stained, food encrusted tables that lay strewn across the east wall of the arcade were delightfully blocking entrance from that side of the area.

Le Rouge Jacques was wondering which direction The Inscrutable would arrive from, not that it really mattered, but to wait was normalcy and he had learned early on the value of patience.

He'd re-arranged the most perfect area for Sylph.

The man was surprisingly light-weight.

Le Rouge Jacques had had to half carry the mysterious stranger and nemesis into the building. Sylph had done everything in his power to block and detain Le Rouge Jacques plans – short of revealing his identity of course. But his actions had been in vain.

Catching Sylph, finally, had been one of the best incidents to occur this year for Le Rouge Jacques.

He had wanted to rip that mask off and bask in the glory that was Sylph's true face. But something inside of him, some yearning, some indescribable desire had stopped him. Patience had shown its face, and a deeper part of himself had listened to it for the first time in his journey as an adult.

Le Rouge Jacques paced the floor area of the arcade. He had shut off every electrical outlet so that the blinking of lights and the humming of machines were inert. He wanted every moment of this day to be clear, he wanted every sound and every look to be transparent and lucid. He did not want to miss a moment of what was about to happen.

He'd always had a theory that The Inscrutable and Sylph worked together. At one time he had contemplated the idea that they merely joined forces when he was doing something that they disliked. But they had been popping up everywhere he had for too long for it simply to be some business arrangement. It was more likely that they were working together, permanently; which had led him to believe that they knew one another intimately. Not romantically, mind you, just as closely as you could know another not of your family.

Le Rouge Jacques paced toward the window once more, peeking out he watched in glee as the reporters and their subordinate camera-men clamored for visual shots. No news story was worth anything without pictures. He ached to go outside and give them a visual worth their time, but he did shy away from the spotlight as Sylph did.

Le Rouge Jacques did not hide; he merely avoided and stayed within the shadows. He knew the value of a face, a name, a recognizable icon. And he did not want to give the public a face or a picture to latch onto.

Sylph had given the public the faceless, dark figure. The one that scurried around in the night, cloaked in the black and the stars.

The Inscrutable had given the public many eye-witness accounts and testimonies of the blurred, suited figure, slightly crazy and almost demonic in nature. But, it had been common knowledge that the vigilante did not wear a mask as the other criminal did. It was a much contended point within the news community, how did he keep his identity secret?

But above all, even though many of his own victims had been attributed to them, the public (whilst in great fear) could be given no proof that The Inscrutable and Sylph had done anything particularly grievous. At least, there was no physical evidence to support those suppositions by the media.

There were no fingerprints, no skin, no hair, no paper trail or electronic trail. It was as if The Inscrutable and Sylph merely existed on the outskirts of common society. They lived beyond the confines of the law; they lived to the tune of their own band and had paid no mind to the outcries of the public.

Only, anyone who had had a personal connection to the two, 'victims' of the purported often turned around and supported the criminals, there were cops on the force who supported the two, children seemed to look up to them, wanted to be like them. Everywhere the public turned, more and more people had begun to speak of the good acts that The Inscrutable and Sylph had performed. More and more people began to question the statements coming from the government and governmental agencies. People were becoming more and more indifferent to the advent of these two heroes.

Le Rouge Jacques looked toward Sylph.

He respected the man's silence.

But the silent, heaving chest and shaking hands were telling him something else. Not that the hands were shaking all that much, but he'd seen them when the shaking had started. And as soon as Sylph had realized he had lost control of motor function, his hands hand gripped the chair relentlessly.

Sylph was crying, and his hands were still locked on the arms of the plastic chair.

The realization made him pause.

If the man could withstand knife blade slices in silence, would he really allow himself to cry?

And for that matter, what did he have to cry over anyway?

The Inscrutable was coming to save him.

Unless...

??!!??!?!

_You're being childish and stupid. _

_Stop crying_!

Sylph became even more annoyed when her brain couldn't yell sternly. It came out as a whine. A plea and she didn't like it.

Thankfully, she wasn't actually making any noise. It was the silent tear cry. But it was frustrating. The liquid was coursing its way down her cheeks, and since she was wearing the mask it was causing some very unusual sensations beneath the face shield.

The moment she'd realized that her hands were betraying her; she'd clenched them into fists. But knowing that was too obvious a thing to do (The Inscrutable had taught her some useful things) she had immediately changed positions.

But a good observationer would know instinctively that something was wrong with her. All she had to do was last until The Inscrutable found them, and hope that he distracted Le Rouge Jacques long enough for her to escape.

If she could figure a way out of these restraints.

Sylph held out some hope for Cho. Perhaps he might help her. He couldn't have grown to hate Le Rouge Jacques enough yet, he'd probably still hold onto the conventional ethics and morals of his previous life. She was almost sad at that thought, that Cho might become more like herself, or The Inscrutable. She certainly didn't want that for the lawful agent. Sylph wanted Cho to maintain those age-old, trust-worthy traits. She wanted to be able to trust the fact that he would help her first, being the hostage, rather than trying to take down the hostage-taker. Although, her previous experiences with hostage crisis tactics led her believe an appropriate and profitable outcome might not be forthcoming; especially not when the hard target was Le Rouge Jacques.

She still hoped though.

Sylph wasn't sure if she was pinning her hopes on Cho, or if she was holding out for The Inscrutable. She certainly knew who she wanted to come and rescue her. The one she wanted to be responsible for rescuing her.

But, and she hated to admit it, she knew how badly The Inscrutable wanted Le Rouge Jacques. She just... didn't know where she ranked in his priority list.

She'd like to think she was highly rated. Given their _other_ non-criminal fighting pastimes, but somehow she's always _known, or thought, believed even,_ that Le Rouge Jacques ranked higher than she did... if given the choice... she'd never been one hundred percent sure.

Her life or Le Rouge Jacques'.

Of course, she's hoped and prayed (if she believed in that anymore) that no situation would ever arise in which she would need to weigh her life on the balance against that man's. Especially since in this particular situation, it's not some mystic man observing the balance – it's The Inscrutable. And the decision he makes, will not only affect the goal they've been trying to achieve for years, it's going to affect something else, the undefinable thing they've dually chosen to ignore defining. They give themselves no names, no labels, they are just them – whatever that means, if it means anything at all.

Maybe their whole _relationship_ is merely a way to pass the time, have a little pleasure and relieve stress.

She doesn't really believe that.

She doesn't.

But they never talk. Not about _that_. Or what it means.

It's not like they can anyway, really, neither one of them is living for the future.

She's still crying. And she hates it.

Hates that the entire time Le Rouge Jacques was accosting her with a blade she was fine. Oh course, in pain, but relatively fine. Enough time has passed now that she knows her wounds will heal, and there won't be any scars. She now realizes that the mental stress was causing her to exaggerate the depth of the slices, one of those 'grazes hurt more than cuts' phenomenon, along with funny bones not really being funny.

What's making her cry now isn't physical pain; it isn't even truly emotional pain. Since the pain she's crying over hasn't even actually happened yet. She rolls her eyes at the idiocy of that realization.

She's crying over The Inscrutable betraying her, when it hasn't even happened yet. No matter how much she wants to believe he'll save her (as his first priority) she just can't bring herself to believe in him.

That makes it so much worse. The realization that she doesn't trust him as much as she thought she did, as much as she wants to. What if he does rescue her first? Then she'll be even more upset, because then she's betrayed him.

It only makes her cry more.

She feels like such a useless, hysterical _female_. One of those olden day dim-witted women who can't take care of themselves and fall into disreputable tizzies anytime life doesn't go their way, like at any minute she's going to faint dead-away. Then the slave's going to rush out with the smelling-salts to revive her, and probably blame her corset... she needs to stop reading historical romances.

She hears a strange creaking noise, coming from one of the side exits, fire exit.

She hopes it is Cho.

??!!??!?!

The fire door swings outward with a low groan. The Inscrutable grins.

The afternoon air breezes into the dimly lit arcade. Dimly lit because Le Rouge Jacques had destroyed the fuse box, there will be no electricity in this building, not while he resides at least.

His left hand touches the bud on his breast pocket, his gift for Sylph; reminds him of his purpose here.

He is aware that Le Rouge Jacques expects him, wonders if the man will allow him entrance without disruption.

Is the goal today to get The Inscrutable as close as possible before the duel? Or is the point of this little meeting to gloat, and revel in his capture of Sylph.

He wonders if Sylph's true identity has been discovered, probably not. Possibly.

The Inscrutable desires Sylph's anonymity if only for the fact that he wishes to whisk her off one day and knowledge of her face will impede (not destroy, merely make harder) his plans.

He wishes he had been clearly with her about his intentions, but she reads him so well he had assumed she knew everything in his heart. He must continually remind himself that she does not possess the same gifts as he does. Her talents lay elsewhere, and it would behoove him to remember that. She is too important to his sanity to take her for granted.

She is too valuable, too special, too tied-up on a plastic chair right now for him to be poetic.

The breath in his lungs collapses under the weight of her figure.

Her fists are clenched and it is obvious she is crying.

Rage envelops him.

How dare Le Rouge Jacques cause her tears.

He had known that she was tortured, but his Sylph is the strongest person he knows. She has not lost her sanity, her humanity. Not like he has. She is a better person, a better hero, she is just better.

He will not lose her now, and definitely not to _him_.

He does not need to scan the floor to know that Le Rouge Jacques is behind him. Not directly of course. But far off to the side, staring intently at Sylph.

He has realized she is crying too, and he is intrigued.

The Inscrutable wants to rip his eyeballs out for seeing Sylph in this intimate moment.

No one should ever see her cry.

Not even himself.

He does not deserve that honor. No one does.

He fingers the dark silver mask upon his forehead. It is ominous and almost omniscient in its dealthly glory.

He does quite like the theatrics of it; reminds him of the operatic ghoul pulling the strings behind the curtain.

He grins and the reflection in the warped steel grimaces.

He can't wait for this fight.

But he must decide on the first course of action.

Incapacitate Le Rouge Jacques so that he can free Sylph OR Free Sylph so together they can incapacitate Le Rouge Jacques.

He will not relinquish this inhumane creature to the police. They cannot be trusted, they have proven that much.

??!!??!?!

Dropping through the ceiling of the arcade had seemed like a good idea. But, it turns out... those types of heroic actions are best left to the movies. It hurt. And he's somehow twisted his ankle as his body swung to the floor.

Guardian hobbled to a corner of the room and hid behind a pinball machine.

He could see Sylph, bathed in dust, stationary in the middle of the room.

Le Rouge Jacques leaning against a covered window, observing her.

The Inscrutable was watching the both of them, obviously deciding what he wanted to do.

Guardian sighed, this was going to take a while.

* * *

_Poor Guardian, having to wait in the shadows is never a fun thing..._

_Hope you all enjoyed_

_Arc  
_


	15. KISMET

_Guy's I'm so sorry about the lack of recent posting. But the muse is trying to slip away, and I 'm refusing, but it's making it very hard going to finish of this tale._

_I keep poking the muse with a pointy stick, but she's resisting. Really resisting. Kind of like roadkill actually. But I will persevere, I promise... just might be slow going._

KISMET

Dale Castanello lurked behind a particularly leafy shrub.

He was pleased with the find, if not his knees, they were protesting the strain. But it was worth sore muscles for a possible picture.

And story.

Dale was a print reporter from the San Realisto Sun. He wasn't a particularly good reporter either. He definitely tried, he just didn't have luck. He was a wordsmith and a lover of words, but somehow he never caught the good stories, the newsworthy stories, the ones at least that his editor thought were interesting.

Dale Castanello caught the cookie-cutter, melt in your mouth butter and bread stories. You know the ones; Dog Found in Tree, Cat Can Can-Can, elderly grandmother beats off hooligans with knitting needles... those kind of stories. Fillers.

All those little nuisance stories in between the 'real' ones, only this time, Dale Castanello was not going to be on the sidelines, writing the insignificant traffic reports surrounding this Pulitzer Prize-winning scoop. He was going to get in the front-line, he was going to get past all the rest of the reporters and news-hounds.

It was a brilliant stroke of luck, perhaps the first time in the entire history of his life, that karma or fate, or destiny, had worked in his favor. His past was littered with near misses, or dollops of donkey-shit, but this time, oh this time, the goddess deigned to give him something beautiful, something wonderful and he was not going to mess it up.

He had actually been at the arcade besides Il Divino's when all the televisions stations broadcast the capture and consequent threat to The Inscrutable about Sylph. He, stunned, fell of the pinball machine he was leaning on.

He'd been doing some insignificant puff piece about teenaged love, blinking lights and pocket money. It was boring as... but his job. He'd actually begun to think that he was just not cut out for reporting, that perhaps fate had it in for him. But no, she'd only been storing up his karmic points, waiting for the big one, and if everything panned out, if what he was trying to accomplish here actually worked. Well, he'd be pretty ecstatic and, yeah... he'd forgive the old girl.

Firstly, his editor commands him to do, yet another, puff piece. A woe-is-us arcade-hell column. 100 words or less, majority time and effort for acutely minor print space.

Then, he spends the most boring half an hour of his life, trying to get something quotable from the arcade manager. Time-waster extraordinaire.

And in the middle of yet another extremely boring sentence from Saggy the Elephant, the television's all cut out of their low brain-washing MTV-esque mundanity. A new breaking story rips the headlines, and he's missing it. Doesn't even know any of the particulars before the rest of the 'normal' community. He feels betrayed.

As soon as the scary voice speaks the words '_come to the arcade by Il Divino's' _all he can hear is the previous statement. One hour. And he knows. He's the only reporter in prime position.

But he won't call head office. He won't call anyone. And he definitely won't call his editor. He had a feeling in the pit of his gut that if he so much as breathes a word of this to anyone at the San Realisto Sun, he'll get pulled out of the area so fast his head will spin. Or, he'll have to baby-sit the spot and hand it over to a 'higher' up reporter. One who actually has luck.

But this is his luck, and like fortune cookies, there are no swapsies.

He'd immediately left the arcade, bolting toward the area, finding a good place to hide and settled in. Every 'normal' person had vacated the premises long before the police ever arrived, and after a cursory glance, the officer on duty concluded no one was about. They cordoned off the area and he was like that rabbit in the garden in _Phenomenon_. A dumb John Travolta never looked so smart.

Or whatever, he hadn't actually paid too much attention to that movie.

The Point: that he was in the perfect position, and still was actually.

Wait, what was that?

There was movement within the building.

Dale realized that there was someone inside peeking out, he had ugly eyes.

But the then he was gone.

Thankfully, because of the police cordon, he could actually hear what was happening within the building. Not much though, just enough to make out what might be happening. Not that anyone had said anything so far, but he'd heard furniture being moved around, so he had definitely assumed that the scary voice and Sylph were inside.

Because issuing a threat and then not even following through on bringing your bargaining chip to the meet was something even the most deranged super-villain wouldn't do.

Dale slowly reached a hand up to the open window and peeled back a corner of the blind. He had a perfect view into the arcade. One that was unobstructed by furniture, games or people.

The illusive and mysterious figure purported to be Sylph was tied to a chair, ensconced in a dull light. Motionless and, Dale reflected, a sad sight.

This once awesome figure of the night and mystique had been reduced to the common. The other man, the voice from the television (forever etched into the consciousness of San Realisto for onscreen murder) walked calmly around Sylph.

Dale wondered when The Inscrutable was going to be arriving... if he was going to be arriving. He kind of hoped the man did show up, made for a better story. At the same time though, Dale thought that was a little bit morbid and caustic. He didn't want to be an ethic-less, immoral reporter. He wanted to be a shining beacon for the people of San Realisto. The one reporter they could trust to tell the truth, regardless of the consequence.

He was also a closet superhero fanboy.

??!!??!?!

The itching had turned into fire. It was wondrously tortuous, and he couldn't wait any longer.

The mask had to come off.

He stalked over to Sylph as quickly as he could, while still maintaining his air of menace. It just wouldn't do for Sylph to become too accustomed to his intrigue and delight at the man's presence.

He towered over Sylph, the man so little, and undeniably petite.

It was odd.

Totally at odds with the image projected by the man as well.

He was not going to wait any longer. The Inscrutable would arrive to find Sylph unmasked in ordinariness of humanity.

His fingertips stroked the chin and neck of Sylph. He didn't care that it was intimate, that it bespoke of some emotion, things and ideas that Le Rouge Jacques wasn't supposed to have, or be capable of, yet he was. _He was_, not Le Rouge Jacques.

It had been too long since he had thought of himself.

But that was beside the point at his present time. He had a much more interesting prospect waiting patiently for his attention.

And Sylph was waiting, oh so patiently.

His fingers found the clasp; he pulled at it with a seductive edge.

The endorphins and adrenaline shot around his body with a nervous excitement. It was a beautiful feeling.

A beautiful thing, just like uncovering Sylph would be.

He wondered if Sylph was that messy, homeless man from one of the back streets in Oklahoma. Perhaps The Inscrutable had picked him up of the streets, trained him, and brought a lamb into the fold.

Perhaps a sacrificial lamb?

The dark skullcap pulled off with a delicious snick.

A thick mane tumbled out, wisps and sticky fly-aways creating a confusing mass of tendrilled hair.

His meaty fist plundered thought the hair, pushing it away from Sylph's face.

For the first time in practically his whole existence, Le Rouge Jacques gasped.

_So did Dale Castanello, only his was slightly softer, and further away._

Sylph was a woman.

A female.

A few seconds further of consideration and Le Rouge Jacques wondered why had hadn't figured this out earlier.

He smoothed out the last remnants of her hair, and a face screwed up in fear and horror flashed into his mind.

Ah, yes. Now he remembered.

He did know this woman, this hidden aspect of Sylph.

But he wasn't one for remembering names.

He grinned as he noticed movement in the corner of the room.

He knew The Inscrutable wouldn't be able to resist his taunt. His threat.

It was inevitable anyway. Everything was becoming mundane, boring, insignificant.

It was no wonder that he was upping the ante on his victims, becoming more and more vocal and public in his choices.

But still he did not acquire the credit for his work.

No, those winnings all went to The Inscrutable and Sylph.

At first he had found it helpful and warming. Then humorous. Then annoying. But now, oh now, he was more than annoyed. He was angry.

He wanted the country to know it was him, to know him. To fear him. To speak his name in hushed tones, to cringe at every shadow.

But they weren't, because somebody was keeping him from the public, using their every resource to protect him. And he was beginning to hate it. The discontent was growing and soon he would not be able to curb his enthusiasms for retribution.

He grinned down at Sylph, and she glared at him. Fear and anger warring for dominance within her eyes.

He truly did appreciate everything about this foe.

He wondered now at the partnership that The Inscrutable and Sylph enjoyed, perhaps it was more than a strictly business-natured contract, wouldn't it be deliciously lovely if their partnership were more of a romantic nature? It would, he concluded.

It would be lovely, deliciously lovely and he knew The Inscrutable wouldn't be able to keep away for much longer.

He waited for the first sign of movement forward.

??!!??!!?!

He'd unmasked Sylph.

She was mask-less.

Her face was uncovered.

It was everything she feared.

Everything he feared too, for her.

Sylph did not fear death, not truly. Perhaps she feared the pain before death, but not death itself.

She did not fear capture, or imprisonment.

But she did fear knowledge. The knowledge of others, specifically she feared that others would figure out that Sylph was a woman, and that Le Rouge Jacques would recognize her.

And then she feared what would happen after.

Right now, she was experiencing her worst fear, and she didn't even have the comfort to know that he was standing near her, trying to telepathically send her his calm and his rage on her behalf.

He would end this today. Of that he promised her.

Time was up.

After so many years wasted trying to search and discover Le Rouge Jacques, all it took was this.

The Inscrutable found he wasn't quite ready to pay that price. Maybe in the beginning, before Sylph meant anything to him, but not now. She meant too much.

He stepped forward. Well, he more slid his left foot forward, rasping quietly on the squishy carpet.

Le Rouge Jacques turned to him, almost a reverent greeting.

A farce.

It was oddly fitting, and The Inscrutable approved of it.

Now The Inscrutable wasn't a very physical sort of man. He wasn't one for fighting, fists hitting flesh and all that. But when it was necessary, it was necessary, and he always (nearly that is) obeyed necessity. She was the mother of invention after all.

And you always obeyed your mother.

Unless she was crazy, or a criminal... beside the point.

??!!??!?!

Dale was astounded.

A man in a dark silver suit appeared out of the shadows, pin-stripe if he wasn't mistaken, and he had a mask too. This must be The Inscrutable.

He was masked too. It was scary, sort of devilish, in a fancy dress manner, not a 'I'm going to kill you' manner.

The fought roughly, and loudly, tables and chairs cracked and bounced, they breathed heavily, but other than that no sounds were made by the two men.

Even Sylph (the newly uncovered woman) made no sound. She watched in fascination, waiting, praying probably, that The Inscrutable overcame the mysterious bloodied man.

Dale brought up his digital camera, he wasn't a photographer by nature, but any picture was better than none, and at this distance, he would be the only reporter with any visuals on the encounter going down within the arcade.

Thankfully, he didn't need to put the flash on, that would just be awkward.

* * *

_Hopefully, that suffices._

_Again I apologies for the wait, and hope that I'll be able to finish this story off before I go overseas for my holiday..._

_Arc  
_


	16. STARK

_Don't even get me started on why this has taken so long to update. Unfortunately my computer has decided it's going to be a hermit. It doesn't want to talk to anyone, including the world wide web and any other computers... half the time it doesn't even recognise my usb drive. Weird._

_But this has taken so long because I was getting it fixed, and sadly... it has taken an epically long time to do that... and for a small amount of that time I've been overseas, so sorry for the long wait... hopefully this makes up for it a little._

STARK

Cho crept through the shadows, sorry... Guardian crept through the shadows, a twinge of pain reverberated in his ankle, reminding him of his not-so-pleasant fall from the ceiling. He'd have to work on that.

It recapped the seriousness of the situation, and made sure that his mind was tasked on the problem.

Guardian could hear the meaty sounds of a fist-fight. He was not in the right position for observing them. But that was okay. He did not need to be in the vicinity to do his part of this rescue.

Some morbid part of him, that male 'cave-man' side that thrilled in wrestling matches, boxing rings and martial arts wished for a spectatoral gaze, but he knew there were more important matters at hand.

He knew if he saved Sylph, then all three of them could apprehend Le Rouge Jacques. Guardian understood that the common place laws of San Realisto and America were not cut out for a criminal of this magnitude. This was going to be one such time when, perhaps, the monikers and beliefs surrounding Sylph and The Inscrutable might just have to be true.

For the first, if not only, time.

He rounded another wayward table, skirted an upturned chair and finally got to see what the commotion was all about.

The Inscrutable was pretty impressive in a physical fight. Obviously not as honed as Guardian, or probably even Sylph. But Guardian guessed the emotional responses were probably playing a very great role in burgeoning his strength.

Le Rouge Jacques and The Inscrutable were so interested in each other they didn't even see the figure emerging from the shadows.

But Dale did.

_Holy Shit!_

He didn't know who this newest hero was supposed to be, but he was certainly scary.

A large dark gold coat, bronze face shield, and _oh dear lord_, a sword...

Dale watched in abject fear as the newest stranger extracted the sword from the sheath at his back, lifted the blade high above his head and attacked Sylph.

His finger seemed to be on automatic motion control. Every few seconds his dimly aware brain registered a camera lens click. Hopefully, by the end of today he'd have some wonderful (news-inspiring) pictures.

His sweaty and trembling fingers almost dropped the camera. He couldn't believe that Le Rouge Jacques had another partner, one that waited in the wings.

It wasn't a trade! It was a set-up. He felt a little disgusted at the duplicitous nature of Le Rouge Jacques. Then reminded himself that LRJ was an evil villain, he was supposed to be astounded and filled with hatred for the man.

When he glanced back up through the window, he noticed that Sylph was still sitting in the chair.

_No Way!_ Bronze-Guy could not have just done some wickedly cool ninja sword trick and killed her where she 'sat'... without seeing it... right?

That would just be so wrong on so many levels... hopefully his camera caught some of the action.

He resisted the urge to check the play-back display.

That's when he noticed no sounds were coming from the inside of the building.

He looked up.

??!!??!?!

Sylph felt the ropes tying her hands together fall away. She knew better than to react.

She guessed it was Cho.

Because really, who else could it be?

She was hugely grateful; but there was more to be done at the moment than to rejoice at the simplicity of that action. The Inscrutable and Le Rouge Jacques were very into their fight; they were trading barbs and threats, hostility and venom dripped from them lips.

And that was the problem.

She dearly wanted to roll her eyes, boys being boys and all that. But she didn't want to give away her precarious new position.

She and Cho needed to wait for the right moment. They would only get one chance, and she didn't want to blow it.

Besides, there was a reporter by the window; The Inscrutable would never forgive her if she made him look incompetent in front of a newspaperman.

??!!??!?!

Luckily for The Inscrutable, Sylph, Cho/Guardian, and subsequently (although he probably wouldn't prefer it) Le Rouge Jacques; Rigsby and Van Pelt had tired of standing around in the tiny concrete trapezoid in the backyard of the arcade complex.

The reporters and cameramen fringing the deserted promenade were trying their best to force the lines forward.

The event causing so much national interest that the some-what usually respectful (of the laws that could get them arrested at least) news station employees were starting to disregard those facets that drew together the basis of the law enforcement/news station relationship.

It was getting bad.

They'd called in extra re-enforcements to combat the ever-growing throes of interested parties. But Van Pelt and Rigsby were still garnering lots of attention, seeing as they had been placed in one of the accessible areas for footage. (If you didn't mind scaling fences and scampering across deserted, police rimmed roads) which apparently, they didn't.

The more inventive reporters and camera-men had started to line the towering parking garages and other high rising buildings. Long range lens were coming into play too.

They were simply glad that there had been no reporters in the area before Le Rouge Jacques had demanded a trade for Sylph.

They still couldn't believe that the stoic and silent man had been captured by the villain.

But Rigsby knew, it had been their fault. He knew it was the day Sylph had saved them, by knocking him unconscious and tying up Van Pelt.

If it weren't for their rookie stupidity that day, none of this would ever have happened. And if Sylph had been tortured or hurt in any way by Le Rouge Jacques, Rigsby would gladly accept whatever punishment Sylph deemed necessary as retribution. He shook his head and moved closer to the exit door.

It was barred, but it wasn't locked.

Apparently, evil masterminds made mistakes too.

??!!??!?!

There was a pressure building behind his forehead, and he knew exactly what it was.

It wasn't triumph at the thought of winning, no, it was foreboding.

So focused on his opponent he did not notice the gilded Guardian lurking in the expanse.

He did not notice the now-free Sylph.

He did not notice the news-reporter huddling beneath the window.

And he did not notice the male and female police officers encroaching upon the arcade.

He did not notice any of these things because the object of his dissatisfaction was about to attack, and he knew the only way he was going to survive this was to be the stronger of the two of them.

But he wasn't particularly physically strong.

No, he used his brains, and his words, and sights to effect change, to make his will be done.

And of course he revelled in the reveal; and the ensuing peace that descended.

There was no greater silence and serenity than the gleam of a bloodied blade.

Le Rouge Jacques focused once more on his greatest nemesis and he marvelled at the opportunities sent his way.

The Inscrutable was going to die, in front of his greatest partner, Sylph.

That little, seemingly inconsequential woman from some unremarkable town, where (if he wasn't mistaken) the thirst for blood had caused him to be more than a little messy. That's probably why she joined The Inscrutable's vendetta.

But it was of no great matter or importance.

Even in death, Le Rouge Jacques still triumphed.

Death was nothing, in his opinion.

Simply a ceasing of existence.

No hell, no heaven, no thing... nothing.

An end.

So... he didn't get to keep living if The Inscrutable killed him.

So what?

What would he care? He wouldn't be conscious to know it, to despair at the thought of him losing to The Inscrutable.

But The Inscrutable would be, still alive that is, unless he took the coward's option and committed suicide... that wouldn't be very Inscrutable now would it? Not after what he had endured.

Either way, he kind-of won.

Well, okay, not if he was dead. But if he was defeated by The Inscrutable and death was his 'punishment', then he was perfectly okay with that end to his machinations.

That was a befitting end, wasn't it?

Didn't Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid die by the hand of the Bolivian's?

Didn't Bonnie and Clyde go out in a blaze of weaponized glory?

Didn't Thelma and Louise choose ravine-ous death over incarceration?

Yes... they did.

And he did too, nothing worse than losing your mystique and glory through countless hours holed up in a barred cell of a jail. (Bunking with Big Bubba).

A place where every man and his guard dog could eyeball you in your dishevelled sweats and compromising positions.

No. Death was preferable.

And hey, what if he defeated The Inscrutable?

He still had Sylph tied to that chair; she would be lots more fun.

If he didn't keep his word, and really, he hadn't _said_ he'd let her go, had he? He'd just proposed a trade, and if The Inscrutable died, all trade negotiations were void and null. Right?

But anyway, he wasn't establishing an embargo or a cross-continental conspiracy. Merely a small, relatively safe killing of a foe; people used to do that all the time.

Still do, he supposed, only they called it something else these days...

Manslaughter and the like.

??!!??!?!

The Inscrutable saw the exact moment that their options dwindled down to two.

Kill or be killed.

In some manner he had always believed it would come to this, he'd merely hoped that Sylph wouldn't be in close vicinity.

Especially because he'd never got the chance to tell her what she meant to him, his feelings regarding her. And he came to realise that he regretted that, he should have told her sooner, ages ago.

He straightened his back, squared his hips and shoulders and waited. There would be a moment, just one where Le Rouge Jacques would give him the opportunity to move, to act, to win.

??!!??!?!

And win he did.

Although he did not do so by himself.

As Dale Castanello would reflect and ponder, and rehash many a time, 'it all seemed to happen at once' (strangely enough, after the events of that day Dale Castanello became the go-to guy for Super Hero and Villain information).

The Inscrutable paused, re-adjusted and waited.

Guardian moved into view, a lurking stealth statue - a masked terracotta soldier encroaching upon the two great enemies.

Sylph, too, rose into view, her bonds inexplicably cut and falling to the floor in ribbons of plasticised cord.

And then there were the two agents, the 'normal' people. Those who represented the everyman's secret wish to be of use, to be vital in the fight against evil.

The red-haired woman and the tall man; they entered the building a mere second before the action took place.

It was a melee of arms, swords, daggers, glinting face masks and muted darkness. And two shouts for 'freeze' by the normally weaponed officers.

In the ensuing silence though, Le Rouge Jacques was pinned to the floor, and before The Inscrutable, Sylph or Guardian had a chance to exact any kind of vigilante justice.

Agents Van Pelt and Rigsby had him cuffed and ready for transport to the jail.

Knowing the media frenzy that was about to descend on their position, the trio of heroes slipped out of the arcade, backtracking presumably to their lair.

Agents Van Pelt and Rigsby were commended for their valor, but they never discussed what had occurred within the arcade.

Dale Castanello hadn't either, at least not for some months.

Le Rouge Jacques was the star of the media for a while, but he was the grotesque star, more of a black hole, an anomaly than any celebrity.

He revelled in his popularity, and the city cringed.

The entire country mourned; as each new revelation occurred families came forth to collect their children, their parents and their lost ones. The death toll at the hands of Le Rouge Jacques climbed, high ranking politicians and dignitaries were either resigning or being sacked before the country-wide investigation could begin.

The country knew that The Inscrutable, Sylph and their newest Hero - Guardian, were never going to talk, or give evidence, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that they wouldn't need to. Especially when a large document arrived on the footsteps of the court building on the day on Le Rouge Jacques arraignment.

Dale always suspected that it was The Trio.

As it happened, The Trio visited Dale. He was slightly shocked to realise that his anonymity had been at their design.

He had not gone unnoticed. But they were merely waiting to see what he chose to do.

It was only with their permission and understanding (and some skillful editing) that his pictures were released.

It was of no surprise to Van Pelt and Rigsby when The Inscrutable and Sylph disappeared from the public eye, and Guardian remained to protect the city... his city.

It was even more unsurprising when two months later, a postcard arrived on three doorstops.

The first doorstop belonged to Guardian. He had taken over Sylph's old lair, she had taught him the basics, showed him all of their contacts and garages, and stores. She lead him through a quick overview of her computer, and when she deemed him competent, The Inscrutable and Sylph left.

The second doorstop belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Rigsby. Newly married they assumed the postcard was a late wedding congratulation. They were partly correct.

The third was to a ever-popular reporter, who kept receipt of the postcard a secret until the day he died at 97.

A misty scene greeted the four viewers, although it greeted them at vastly different times and moods to each other.

Curls of fog and dewy condensation gripped the edges of the card; a rainforest.

Beams of light snaked through unsuspecting foliage, trees loomed and it seemed to breathe the freshness of the forest.

Individually they flipped the card over, searching for news. Who had posted them this card?

No greetings of any sort.

Two types of script flowed on the back of the card. One was spiky, and rushed. A certain affection in the strokes but not patiently written, as if the writer had never bothered to properly learn in school.

A simple message: _Thinking of you on this day._

The rest was a flowing, beautifully shaped scrawl. Long lines and perfectly rounded vowels. Practised ease bled from this hand.

_She finally succumbed to my madness._

_We're married._

That was it. No signatures. No missives of love, or wishful missing you's. Simple, direct and so like Sylph and The Inscrutable.


End file.
